To Belong, To Be Lost
by rastarabbit
Summary: Jack Ramsey will one day become the Joker, but for now is just the new kid at Bruce Wayne's high school, and their friendship turns to something more. Mature themes.We are now in the second part of the story with Joker/Batman. I own none of the characters
1. Beginning

**A/N: This is based on characters from The Dark Knight. I don't own any of them. This is just a little fantasy about what they were like as teenagers, and how the Joker came to be; and fair warning, it is SLASH, eventually, between Jack/Bruce and, later, Joker/Batman. Readers are deeply appreciated, Reviewers are LOVED!! Thanks in advance, hope you like it.**

Bruce Wayne walked into his first period science class with his classmates, Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent. The three were a tightly knit little group that tended to band together, even though each of them was popular and well-liked on their own.

Bruce took his seat; once everyone had more or less settled down, the instructor called for the class' attention; Bruce looked up and saw a new classmate shamble into the room, a tall, slim long-haired blonde boy wearing tattered jeans, a flannel shirt and worn sneakers. He had a battered messenger bag over his shoulder. The teacher motioned him over to her desk and introduced him to the class.

"Ok, everyone, I want you to meet your new classmate, Jack Ramsey; Jack just transferred here from Gotham's East Side High. Please make him feel welcome!" The latter sentence came as more of an order than a suggestion, but no one seemed to pay much attention.

Jack sauntered over to the closest vacant desk, the one on the next row over from Bruce; he never smiled or looked around him, just lowered himself into the chair and slouched down in an appearance of utter disdain and boredom.

Bruce noticed his long brownish-blonde hair fell around his face, obscuring his features; but not before he had taken in his brown eyes and scarred lower lip. He was good-looking enough; skinny, not athletic, but fluid in his movement. Probably would make a good sprinter or swimmer, if he went out for sports at all; Bruce suspected he wasn't much of a team-sports kind of guy.

Bruce turned his attention back to the teacher, and after class was over he headed to his second period, forgetting all about the newcomer until lunch. He, Rachel, Harvey and a couple of other sophomores were seated at their usual table. They all watched Jack Ramsey carrying his lunch tray, heading for the most out of the way table in the room, finding a seat far from anyone else, to eat his lunch alone.

"Well, that's sad." said Rachel indignantly. "Not one of you socially responsible guys could offer him a seat at _our_ table?"

"Come on, Rachel, he's not going to want to sit with us. The freaks'll take him under their wing soon enough." said Harvey dismissively.

"You are such a snob! Just because he has long hair and shabby clothes, you think you're better than he is?" asked Rachel.

"I don't think that at all, I just know how it is. You feel more comfortable with your own kind."

"Look, Rachel," said Bruce, "if it'll make you feel better, I'll invite him to sit with us tomorrow." Bruce was crazy about Rachel. He'd known her his whole life, but this was the first year they had actually begun to date, and he was eager to differentiate himself from Harvey whenever possible.

"That's perfect, Bruce! I think he'll appreciate the effort, even if he doesn't accept."

Bruce's eyes wandered over to the blonde boy, and observed he was picking at his food while reading a paperback book. Nope, he would not fit in with their crowd; not at all. But he'd make the effort, since it meant so much to Rachel.

The next day, Bruce kept his word. As Jack passed their table, Bruce called out "Jack! Jack Ramsey! Would you like to sit with us?"

The slight young man turned and stared at athletic, dark haired Bruce Wayne with a bewildered expression; he glanced around as if to make sure he was actually the object of the question, then headed over and set his tray down. He peered at each of them in turn with a suspicious frown, but said, "Sure."

He sat and, without looking at anyone, began eating.

Bruce, Harvey, and Rachel exchanged glances.

"Jack, what brings you to North Gotham?" Rachel asked pleasantly.

Jack looked up as if someone had slapped him, stopped chewing, and swallowed before answering.

"Uh…I got kicked out of my old foster home. The new one is in this school district."

He went back to eating and the trio again looked at each other for a long moment. Not one of them had ever met anyone from a foster home, much less someone who had managed to get kicked out of one.

"What'd you do?" Harvey asked, openly curious.

"Harvey!" Rachel chided.

"What? What's wrong with that?" Harvey asked, dismayed.

"That's a terrible thing to ask!"

"No, no, it's ok." Jack assured Harvey. "I got caught…with one of the girls living there." He gave a lopsided grin, and a rather nasty wink. "She was the parents' 'real' daughter, and I guess they didn't like her fraternizing with the riff-raff." His smile faded, he shrugged, and went back to eating.

All three of his table mates stared uncomfortably at Jack for a moment, then dropped their eyes, trying to think of something else to say. Finally, Bruce piped up with, "So, Jack, you going out for football?" He knew it was an inane question for this particular individual, but he felt he had to come up with something to break the uncomfortable silence.

Jack raised his eyes in disbelief. "Huh?...Is that a joke? Do I _look_ like a football player to you?" He started laughing to himself.

Rachel interjected gently, "I think Bruce is just trying to make conversation. What _are_ you interested in, Jack?"

Jack looked at her, forcing himself not to mouth off with "Weed and pussy, in that order" as he normally would. He had some vague hope of making it through his first week at his new school without getting the shit beaten out of him, and he suspected that whichever of the two guys sitting next to Rachel aspiring to being her boyfriend would feel he was being disrespectful to her. Which, of course, he was. But, still.

He paused a moment, then answered, "Well…music, I guess. Books. Stuff like that. Oh, and I play a pretty mean game of five card stud." He hoped the quiz portion of the lunch hour was now over; if they persisted, he would just have to get up and sit somewhere else.

"You play poker?" Bruce asked, interestedly. "Harvey runs a game every Thursday night; we could use another hand. Want to come?" Bruce was aware of Harvey's desperate facial expressions trying to stop him from offering that invitation, but cheerfully ignored him.

Jack looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, I don't have any transportation…." He really hoped they would drop this fucking friendliness act, he knew none of them wanted anything to do with him, socially or otherwise. But Bruce was determined….

"That's not a problem--you can ride home with me and I can drop you off." Bruce was sixteen and had just gotten his license.

"Uh…"

"I think that's a great idea, Bruce. Jack, that'll be a very good way for you to meet some of the other guys we hang around with!" Rachel was good at micro-managing her friends.

Harvey reluctantly took his cue from Rachel, and added, "Sure…we'd love to shake down the new guy…hope you've got plenty of cash on you when you come, friend."

"Yeah, well…." Just then the bell rang for the next class.

At the end of the school day, Bruce was dialing the combination to his locker, when he became aware of a presence standing by his shoulder. He turned to see Jack waiting to say something to him.

"Oh, Jack. What's up?" He went back to his lock.

"Bruce…it was really, uh, nice of you to get me invited to Harvey's poker night, but…I really can't go. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it at lunch, but would you just tell him I won't be there?" he asked uncomfortably.

"What are you talking about, it's all set!" Bruce turned to take a good look at the guy who was trying to weasel out of the game.

"Yeah, but I can't. Just tell him for me, ok?"

"Why can't you?" Bruce was a little irritated that he had gone out of his way to be nice to the hippie freak-guy, and for him to now be so ungrateful….

Jack sighed, and gave up trying to be casual about his excuse.

"Look…you guys play for money, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, quarter to start, quarter ante…"

"Right. Well, unless I win the first hand, I won't be in for more than one round. I don't have a job yet, and…" he dropped his eyes to the floor. "I just don't have any money, Bruce. So, please, just tell Harvey I forgot about a thing I had to do that night, or something. Ok?" He looked up with a pleading expression. Bruce felt terrible. It had never occurred to him that money might be the reason Jack was trying to get out of the game.

He really looked at his new acquaintance for the first time. He hadn't paid attention before, but the boy's clothes were definitely not the expensive, purposely "distressed" designer clothes that most of the stoner kids at North Gotham High sported; he suddenly got the idea that the holes in his jeans and wear on his sneakers came from not having very many pairs to choose from, and the ones he did have were cheaply made.

Bruce tried to think; it just didn't seem fair that Jack couldn't have an evening of fun with new friends simply because of a few dollars. He had an idea….

"Look, Jack…I'm supposed to spend all day Saturday cleaning out my family's storage locker, and it's going to take forever doing it by myself. What if you come over and help me? I can pay you ten bucks for your trouble, and give you an advance for Thursday. So, then, you _could_ join the game. What do you think?"

Jack stared at Bruce, somewhat taken aback. He had never had many friends at school, and certainly none among the social class that Bruce Wayne was obviously a part of. Was he planning to humiliate him, or otherwise use him as the butt of some cruel joke? He wanted to trust him, but….

Jack looked at the ceiling for a moment, considering, then decided to take the chance.

"Ok, Bruce. If you want to waste your money on me, fine. But, I'm warning you, I'm one lazy bastard, good luck getting ten dollars worth of work out of me." With that, he waved, flashed a surprisingly charming grin, and walked away.


	2. Playing Poker

Early Thursday morning, Jack Ramsey opened his eyes and immediately felt a surge of uneasiness. There was something he was dreading about today—what was it?…Oh, yeah, that damn poker game.

He turned over in the upper bunk he had arbitrarily been assigned. He was too tall for it, and the mattress was thin and lumpy. He peered over the side to see if his roommates were stirring. The one below him was big, older, and dumb; the other one slept on an old army cot and was younger, small for his age, and stupid. The three of them were crammed in the tiny third bedroom of an aging suburban tract house that his new foster "parents" owned.

It was easy to judge the length of time each resident had been in place by the amount of band posters, doodled death metal symbols, and pages torn from porno mags that had been pinned to the walls in each of their allotted spaces.

Jack's area consisted of…absolutely nothing. He didn't own much, and he had long ago given up on the idea of personalizing any space he lived in because he never expected to be there for very long. Besides, the less people knew about him, the better he liked it.

He swung his long, bare legs over the edge of the bunk and dropped to the floor to claim the shower before anyone else; he didn't like using the bathroom after other people, especially these Neanderthals.

As the hot water flowed over him, Jack immediately started stressing over the upcoming evening. It wasn't the game itself he was worried about—not that he was that great a card player, but he could easily read most people's faces, and he had learned to use their unconscious signals to outplay them, if he so chose.

As a matter of fact, he had already decided he wouldn't win tonight, even if the cards were in his favor. He'd play his ten bucks long enough to make a decent showing, then let them win their money back. That way, he could avoid being sucked into the mean-spirited competition that so often led to him getting his ass kicked. As a bonus, they would then underestimate him in future games, which would be to his benefit. As if there would be future games. But you never knew….

No, what really worried him was his own damn _mouth_. He had the hardest fucking time keeping his opinions to himself, and if the group turned out to be a bunch of brainless idiots, he knew he would make the serious mistake of letting them in on that fact. All he needed was to be trapped in some dank suburban basement with a few football playing gorillas. But, Bruce had been so nice to him…he didn't particularly want to let him down. So he'd go. But…he was going to get his ass kicked.

He just knew it.

After his shower, he pulled on his least ratty t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt and the same pair of jeans he'd been wearing all week, grabbed his book bag and headed for the bus stop before anyone else in the house was even stirring. He knew he wouldn't get anything to eat until his government paid-for lunch at school, but he didn't care. The less time he spent in that house, the better. The cold air of morning chilled him, but he didn't bother to go back for a jacket.

Better to be cold.

***

Bruce had instructed his new friend to meet him by his locker after school. He had been observing the strange fellow all week and couldn't help but like him. Harvey did _not _share his opinion, and even Rachel's unflagging devotion to the idea of social equality was beginning to wear a little thin, but the very things about him that made them squirm, made Bruce laugh.

Jack slunk up to him, apologizing for being late; he'd had to stay for a brief but stern lecture from his English teacher after having openly argued with her about the dubious value of the mindless homework assignment she had meted out to the class that afternoon.

Bruce smiled, dismissing his lateness, and said, "Let's get going; we can stop and grab a burger before we go over to Harvey's." He saw the younger boy's uncertain expression, and said "Hey, don't worry, it's on me—anyone who stands up to crazy Mrs. Hannity deserves a meal!" He clapped Jack on the back and led him out to the student parking lot.

Bruce had a vintage GTO convertible, burnt orange, with all-original upholstery. Upon seeing its shining perfection, Jack's eyes widened in awe. He had gathered that Bruce came from money, but, damn….

"Shit, man, this is incredible—where'd you get her?" he asked reverently.

"It was my dad's—it's been in the garage all these years, waiting for me to get old enough to get my license."

Jack hopped into the passenger seat and immediately began fiddling with the radio until he found something halfway decent. Bruce peeled out of the lot and decided to take to the highway for a bit, just to show off.

He took the engine up to 60, 70, 80 miles per hour, and the chill wind blew in their faces. Jack gave a whoop and stood up, dangerously hanging over the windshield like a dog with his tongue out. Bruce yelled at him to sit down, for God's sake, but he finally had to grab the back of Jack's pants to pull him down into the relative safety of his seat.

"What's the matter with you, you want to die?" Bruce asked, only half kidding. He had slowed down to the speed limit of 55, and was slightly disturbed that Jack was still in the throes of maniacal laughter.

"Aw, man, that was fantastic!!" he enthused. "You've got it made, Bruce old man! Sweet ride, hot girlfriend—You just need some decent speakers in this thing and you'd be on top of the world." Bruce's passenger grinned happily at him, and Bruce gave up and started laughing, too. He spent an awful lot of time playing down the material abundance he had been so richly blessed with, and it was kind of fun to have someone so gleefully appreciative of it for a change.

Bruce was relieved to spot a good burger place, and pulled in for their dinner. He bought Jack a cheeseburger and fries and felt some satisfaction as he watched him wolf it down. Damn kid didn't seem to get many decent meals…Bruce liked the way Jack's eyes lit up and his grin deepened when he talked about cars and music. It was a big change from his usual attitude of extreme boredom and sarcastic contempt.

Afterward, Bruce got back on the highway, threatened Jack with mutilation if he didn't put on his seat belt, and drove until he came to the exit leading to Harvey's house. By the time they pulled up to the front of the Dent residence, Jack had become quiet and subdued.

"What's the matter with you, all of a sudden?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Nothing." Jack didn't offer any explanation, but it occurred to Bruce that he might be feeling awkward about meeting his friends.

"Hey, don't worry, these are all good guys. You'll get along with them just fine, trust me." As Jack slung his lanky frame out of the car, blonde curls in a tangle, Bruce felt a surge of doubt regarding the truth of that statement, but he smiled encouragingly anyway.

Jack gave him a skeptical look, but gamely followed him around to the trunk of the car, where Bruce pulled out a six pack of beer and a paper bag with a bottle of whiskey in it. Jack peered into it—it was the good stuff—and nodded approvingly.

They sauntered to the back of the house, let themselves in, and headed down to the basement.

The air was rank from stale cigarette smoke and the vaguely moldy smell of a leaky basement. The other guys—Harvey, an older boy named Jim Gordon, and Charlie and Brent from the football team, were already seated around the table with a number of beer bottles, many already empty, and potato chip bags.

" 'Bout time you got here…" Harvey groused.

"Yeah, what happened Bruce, you have to stop and make out with your pretty new girlfriend?" Brent taunted, staring confrontationally at Jack.

"What's the matter, you jealous? Cause he's all yours, sweetheart," snapped Jack without a shred of hesitation.

_Oh, shit, here it comes…didn't even make it past the introductions…_

There was a brief moment of dead silence before Harvey masterfully interjected with, "Now, now ladies, let's not start off the evening in a bad mood. Jack, this is Charlie, and this fine gentleman is Brent. I'll call your attention to the fact that he has about 50 pounds of sheer muscle on you, ok? So, be nice. Now, can we play poker?"

The two young men glowered at each other, but Bruce gave Jack a little push to get him to sit down, and in a few minutes everyone was engrossed in the business of setting up the card game.

The game proceeded much as Jack had expected; but to his surprise, Harvey and Jim were both pleasant toward him, and there were even a few light-hearted moments where everyone laughed as he and Bruce easily bantered back and forth.

The drinking escalated as the evening progressed, especially for Brent. He was oddly quiet for a long time, then, suddenly he cast an ugly look at Jack and said, "Hey, stoner-dude, got a _joint _on you?" and laughed nastily. The room got quiet; Jack shot a narrow-eyed look at Brent and simply shook his head "no" before turning his attention back to his cards.

"Oh, come on, baby, I bet you've got _one_ _little_ joint on you…"

"Sorry to disappoint, asshole, but no, I _don't_." Jack said firmly, staring hard at the obviously drunk boy.

"Jack…" Bruce warned quietly. Jack snapped his gaze to Bruce's face, trying to focus and control his temper.

Brent strode over, leaned down, and stuck his face a mere few inches from Jack's. He spoke in a low, slurred voice.

"Lissen freak-boy, I don't know what you think you're doing, but we don't need your drug-peddling ass around here. You may have Bruce and Harvey fooled, but I know what you're up to…right, Jim?" Jim Gordon looked uncomfortable; he just shrugged.

"Jack, what's he talking about?" Bruce asked in a strained voice.

"Your new bes' frien' here was locked up in the Gotham Ju-ven-ile Detention Center for selling dope a few months ago, and I'm here to tell you, Harvey don't need this kind of _trash_ in his house…"

Jack ran his hand nervously through his hair, and abruptly stood to walk away, but Brent grabbed his shirt, and jerked him back.

"I'm talking to you, fag! Come here and tell the truth…you're a damn piece-of-shit dope dealer, aren't ya? _Aren't ya_?" Jack could smell the sickish sweet smell of too-much alcohol on the bigger boy's breath, and he was busy making rapid-fire calculations. He made a fast twist out of Brent's grasp and came up with a hard right punch to his face, which did little except to rock the drunk back enough to give Jack the room to lightly spring back and away from him.

Charlie got the taste for the fight and stood to block Jack's retreat, grabbing him by the shoulders and holding him until Brent recovered enough to take his shot, a blast of his meaty fist into Jack's stomach. Bruce watched in horror as Jack doubled over; he was quickly brought back to an upright position by first one, then another follow-up punch to his face which took him off his feet, so that he fell back onto Charlie.

"Get off me, you little homo bastard…" Charlie spat, pushing Jack into Brent's hands. He was about to deliver another shot to the face, but both Bruce and Harvey took him on, pulling one arm apiece behind him, giving Jack the opportunity to clumsily take off, managing to avoid Charlie's reach, and running up the stairs and out to the open air. Bruce took off after him, and Harvey and Jim were left to mollify the enraged goons in the stuffy basement.

Bruce couldn't see Jack anywhere; but he knew he couldn't have gotten too far on foot. He sprinted around to the front of the house and spotted Jack almost at the end of the block, striding purposefully along without looking back.

Bruce took off running to catch up with him and when he did he could see blood from Jack's nose had flowed down to his chin, mixing with the blood from a split lip.

Jack had already doubled up his fists and was ready to scrap again, until he saw it was Bruce; he relaxed a bit, and said "You were so right, Bruce, I can see I'm going to get along _famously_ with your friends." He turned and kept walking.

"What was Brent talking about, Jack? _Did_ you get into trouble with drugs?"

Jack rolled his eyes in irritation.

"Oh, sure—me and a couple of other guys were smoking a joint outside one of their dad's auto shop, and he called the cops to came and give us a scare. We got yelled at and threatened with juvvie if we ever did it again, and that's all there was to it. Now that I think of it, one of the cop's name was Gordon—is that Jim's dad?"

"Yeah, Jim's dad is a cop. So, if that's all that happened, why does Brent think you did time?"

Jack looked at Bruce and sighed tiredly. "You don't believe me. Fine. Look, I knew this was a mistake. Go back to the game, ok? I'm going home."

He turned and began walking again.

Bruce didn't know exactly where Jack lived but he knew it was clear across town.

"Jack! You can't walk home, it's miles! Let me give you a ride…"

"No, thanks." He waved Bruce away dismissively.

Bruce threw his hands up in disgust. Great. Let him walk, then.

He headed back to Harvey's house and was about to go back to the basement, when he though of the punch Jack took to the stomach and the blood pouring out of his nose.. He had to be in pain.

Plus, there really was no way he could walk home, if he even knew how to get there from the unfamiliar Dent neighborhood, and there weren't any buses within five miles. He sighed and got in his car and drove down the street until he spotted Jack again.

He pulled up next to him, and shouted "Get in, will you?" Jack ignored him. "Don't be an idiot, get in the damn car!"

Jack's stomach hurt and he had walked off most of his adrenaline to the point that he felt a little light-headed. He hesitated, then reluctantly took Bruce up on his offer and got in the car without speaking.

Bruce started driving; he felt a mixture of anger and compassion toward Jack, and deep aggravation toward both Jim and Harvey for letting the two big jerks get so worked up. Brent and Charlie were beneath contempt.

"I _do _believe you, Jack." Bruce said quietly. "And, I am so sorry this happened. I just don't understand why Brent got the idea….Are you ok?"

Jack just nodded. He'd had plenty of worse injuries; he was much more hurt by Bruce's skepticism regarding his explanation than his physical condition.

"Can you let me out here?" They had arrived at a gas station near the high school.

"What for? I'll take you home." Bruce protested.

"I've got to get cleaned up. If my foster father sees I've been in a fight…I just need to wash the blood off." It looked like quite a job; a lot had dripped down onto his shirt.

"Come on, I'll take you back to my place and you can wash up. I'll loan you a clean shirt, too."

Jack gave Bruce a distrustful look, but shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. He certainly didn't want to go home in this condition. He hadn't gotten to know the man who headed his household very well yet, but he had a strong feeling that his response to his bloodied state would _not _be to offer bandages and compassion.

Bruce drove to Wayne Manor; he was lost in thought as he pulled up to the gate and forgot that Jack had never been to his house. He heard his passenger gasp.

"You live…here?" he asked in shock.

"Oh…yeah. It's kind of…ostentatious, isn't it?" he asked awkwardly.

"Jesus."

Bruce pulled into the multi-car garage and smiled a little to see Jack's amazement at the collection of expensive foreign cars that were housed there. He led him inside and took him to the old elevator that would bring them up to the floor where Bruce's bedroom was located.

He took him to his bathroom. Jack's nosebleed seemed to have stopped, so Bruce gave him a supply of wash cloths and went to get some ice for his lip. When he returned, he found that Jack had taken off his t-shirt and was trying to rinse out the blood. He had washed his face clean, but Bruce could see his lower lip was swelling.

Bruce handed the ice pack to Jack and watched him press it to his lip. His eye was caught by a long, jagged scar that ran along Jack's left wrist; next to it was a crudely done tattoo of a bird on the wing. Bruce studied both markings silently, not wanting to ask the question, but Jack suddenly spoke.

"Admiring my little souvenir?"

"How did that happen?"

"You'll be interested to know that drunk thirteen year olds aren't too steady with a razor blade." Jack gave a half smile on the unaffected side of his mouth.

"You tried to kill yourself?" Bruce asked, distressed.

"Yeah. Not very effectively, but…yeah. I read about it in a book and thought it was a pretty dramatic way to go."

"Obviously, you didn't succeed."

"Yeah, ever the fuck-up," Jack agreed ruefully, checking his battered reflection in the mirror.

"What's with the tattoo?"

"I met this girl shortly after—in the hospital—and she gave it to me with a ball-point pen. Said if I ever decided to try something like that again, that I should just look at the bird and think of her… I can't say that that was particularly helpful, considering that she managed to off herself three months after they let her out, but it was a nice gesture."

"Why'd you do it?" Bruce could just hear Rachel trying to hush him up, but Jack never seemed to mind answering a direct question.

He was silent for a moment, obviously trying to decide whether or not to trust Bruce with his account. He finally answered, "My mom died when I was twelve, after being sick for a long time. Cancer. My dad left when I was little, and it was just the two of us. I got sent to a foster home."

"It was ok at first, but after a while, one of the older guys there…started, uh, molesting me. I dunno…I just didn't have any hope that anything would ever get better…I guess I just wanted not to have to keep fighting all the time. To, you know, stay sane." He gave a little laugh, and then looked anxiously at Bruce to see if he was repulsed by his story. But Bruce had a serious expression of concern, and only nodded understandingly.

"They put me on anti-depressants and all kinds of shit at the hospital, and I got sent to a different home after they let me out. And things did get better. Of course, I couldn't leave well enough alone, and got kicked out of that one, and…well, here I am."

Bruce stared at his friend, not knowing what to say. Jack had clearly already lived a hard life, making his own self-pity over losing his parents seem almost self-indulgent.

Bruce put his arms around Jack and pulled him close to him; somehow, he liked the way the slender boy felt in his arms. Jack submitted to the hug, and Bruce heard him sigh heavily, and relax against him. Impulsively, Bruce pressed his lips into Jack's tousled hair. Jack pulled away and searched Bruce's face for something, then smiled uncertainly.

"I should probably go, now. They lock the doors at midnight, and if I wake 'em up, there'll be hell to pay."

Bruce felt embarrassed; he didn't know why he had kissed him. It was nothing sexual, he told himself, just an act of compassion…

"Let me find you a clean shirt." He hastily turned to his large walk-in closet and came out with a t-shirt and a heavier long-sleeved shirt than the one Jack had been wearing.

"I'll bring these back on Monday, if that's ok. We're only allowed to do laundry on the weekend." Jack said apologetically, as he slipped on the t-shirt.

"Sure, that's no problem."

Bruce took his friend home, and watched him disappear into a house that held no warmth or welcome for him; he slowly drove back to his own home, feeling oddly lucky and sad at the same time.


	3. Double Date

**A/N: Thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and to all my readers! I know some of you are eager for things to heat up between Jack and Bruce, please be patient just a little longer! In the meantime, we have Jack enjoying female companionship…hope you like it!!**

**--Reeniecat**

The next day, Rachel Dawes was standing with her three best friends on the steps of the high school, waiting for the doors to open. They were all on drill team together and were excited about the upcoming first game of the season. Their chatter slowed to a stop as tall, handsome Bruce Wayne approached and stopped to slip an arm around Rachel and pull her in for a squeeze.

"Ooo, Rachel, maybe you should play hooky today, huh?" asked her absolute _best_ friend, Cindy Adams, a cute little blonde with a very short skirt. "Looks like you've got a partner in crime available!" Bruce ignored the other girls; he gave Rachel his full attention.

"So, are we doing anything tonight, babe? It's Friday, you know." He wished Rachel would break away from the pack so he could speak with her far from prying ears, but she remained flanked by her all-too-curious pals.

"As a matter of fact, Bruce, there's an opening at that downtown art gallery that I like. Cindy and I both want to go, and I thought you could talk Harvey into going along—you know, a double date." Rachel was determined to get Cindy and Harvey together; she just knew they'd make a great couple if only they would put a little effort into it.

Bruce rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Rachel, I do NOT want to spend a weekend night standing around an art gallery while you girls act all pretentious over a bunch of paint slapped on a canvas."

"Oh, come on, Bruce!" piped up Cindy. "We don't have to stay long, and we could get some pizza afterward. It'd be fun!"

"You girls have a weird idea of fun. Come on, Rachel, are you really going to make me do this?" Bruce asked hopelessly.

"Yes, I most certainly am. It wouldn't hurt you to be exposed to a little culture for a change, you know. Plus, there's free wine, and no one will card us." Rachel winked, and to sweeten the deal, gave Bruce a little kiss on his cheek and a big smile, which put him over the edge. The other girls made squeals and kissy noises, much to Bruce's annoyance.

"Well…ok, I'll see if Harvey's up for it. But if _he _doesn't go, _I'm_ not going!"

"Oh, he'll go…tell him Cindy's going to wear her new outfit, which in my opinion, is short a couple of yards of fabric…" Rachel gave Cindy a disapproving look, and Cindy giggled.

Bruce nodded, amused.

At lunch, Bruce collared Harvey outside the cafeteria.

"Harvey, my man, there is a golden opportunity ahead of you, if you choose to take advantage of it."

"Oh, yeah? And what would that be?" Harvey was always skeptical of Bruce's "opportunities" as they usually meant getting him involved in some civic responsibility nonsense such as cleaning up highways or recycling.

"Rachel and me, you and Cindy—double date tonight."

Harvey liked Cindy ok, although he thought she was a bit flighty. Still, she _was _awfully cute…

"Ok, what'll we be doing?"

Bruce considered how likely it was that he could carry off a lie about the damn art gallery component of the evening. Probably not very.

"Ok, I'll come clean. There's an opening at the art gallery and…."

"Oh, no! Not just no, but _hell_ no! There is no way I'm going to waste Friday night at some artsy-fartsy tea party! Uh-uh, count me out."

"Come on, Harvey, if you don't go, I'm going to be stuck standing around like an idiot while Rachel and Cindy prance around like a couple of prima donnas…"

"I said no, no way." Just then Jack ambled up and stood frowning in curiosity at the animated discussion going on in the hallway.

"Here, perfect, make Ramsey go!" said Harvey, pleased. Excellent use of the little creep. It'd take care of Bruce's issues, plus there was no way Cindy Adams was going to be interested in a freak like Jack.

Bruce appraised Jack's skinny frame, clad in his usual grungy attire. Well, he'd probably fit in at a fruity art gallery just fine.

"Do you have a sport jacket?" he asked his friend.

"Yeah…it's kind of beat up, but yeah. Why?" Jack's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How'd you like to go on a double date with me and Rachel to an art opening tonight?"

Jack bit his bruised lower lip, considering. "Who's the girl?" he asked skeptically.

"Cindy Adams."

Jack's eyebrows shot up, surprised.

"She wants to go out with _me_?" he asked in disbelief. Cindy was definitely way above his social circle, like several orbits above.

"Uh…well…" Bruce stammered.

"She thinks you're _very_ interesting." Harvey said smoothly.

Jack shot him a steely look. He knew bullshit when he heard it.

"She doesn't know I'm going, does she?" he asked knowingly.

"Well, no, but she really wants to go to this opening, so don't worry about it," said Bruce.

"I've had about enough of your upscale social scene, Bruce. Although…I suppose a ninety-eight pound girl is less likely to beat me up…" Jack said reflectively.

"I think you could take her," Bruce said encouragingly. All three boys cracked up, and Jack finally said, "Ok, I'll go. But I can't afford to buy her dinner or anything."

"You're doing me a huge favor, the evening's on me." Bruce said, relieved. Now all he had to do was convince Rachel that the evening wouldn't turn into a total disaster. Well, maybe he had to convince himself first….

***

"NO! No way, Bruce," was Rachel's knee-jerk response to the news of Harvey's replacement player, Jack.

"I am NOT subjecting Cindy to that weirdo. Who knows what he'll say to her? Or _do _to her?" Rachel had gotten it into her head that Jack Ramsey was a sex freak; rumor had it that he and one of the stoner chicks, Cassie Meyers, had been observed having sex under the bleachers one afternoon, and he'd only been a student at North Gotham for a _week_….

"Jack's going to behave, it'll be fine. It's just one evening, and we'll both be with them the whole time."

"Oh, Bruce, it'll be awful! He's crude and insulting, and he has no manners!"

"I thought we were all created equal, all God's precious creatures…." Bruce chided her in amusement.

"Yeah, well, some of us are just creatures and the rest of us don't need to spend the evening with them…"

"Babe, Jack's the best I can do on short notice, take it or leave it. I'd just as soon go to a movie, you know," Bruce said.

Rachel glared at Bruce in disgust, but gave in.

She was alarmed to discover that Cindy was not only _not _repulsed by her date for the evening, but actually squealed in delight when she heard Jack was coming along.

"Cindy, he's such a jerk! Are you saying you actually _want _to go out with him?!"

"Oh, Rachel, lighten up! He's _cute_…that scar on his lip, wouldn't you love to see how that feels when you kiss him?" Cindy was only partly razzing Rachel; she really did think Jack was adorable.

"Oh, yuck! Well, we'll just have to make the best of it. But Bruce Wayne _owes _me…." Rachel said grimly.

***

Before meeting the girls at Rachel's house, Bruce picked up Jack and noticed he looked relatively respectable in a dress shirt and dark tweed sport coat. He had a slightly less tattered pair of jeans on, and black motorcycle boots. He slumped down in the passenger seat with a dire expression on his face.

"What?" Bruce asked.

"Rachel already hates me; if I end up pissing off her best friend, she won't let you hang out with me at all any more." Jack said dismally.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't be such a pessimist. Just don't do anything to piss Cindy off, and everything will be _fine._ Anyway, Rachel doesn't get to decide who I hang out with._" _Bruce said dismissively.

"Oh, you try going without pussy for a couple of weeks and see how quickly you start acting right…"

Bruce cast an uncomfortable glance at Jack; he didn't want to have to admit that Rachel had yet to give him _any _pussy so far, and that, in fact, she was suggesting that they should wait until after they were married for her to do so.

"Anyway, I have a natural ability to piss off rich girls, I've done it for years, and I guarantee you, by the end of the evening, they'll _both_ hate me," Jack said ominously.

"Well, maybe you could try being nice for a change," Bruce offered mildly.

Jack made a scornful sound and stared out the window.

They arrived at Rachel's house, and rang the bell; Rachel's father answered and let them in, greeting Bruce warmly, and cordially greeting a sullen Jack. The two girls came down, Rachel with a sour expression on her face, Cindy bubbly and excited. She immediately took Jack's arm and gave him a squeeze of cheerful anticipation. Jack smiled down at her, obviously forgetting his dire predictions for the evening. Bruce tried not to show his amusement to Rachel, but failed—she gave him a disgusted look, and took the lead heading to the car.

The two couples got in and headed for the gallery; Bruce and Rachel in the front, Jack and Cindy in the back. There was already a crowd, and it was easy for the two boys to hang back and let the girls mingle and wander around looking at the art; Jack immediately found his way to the free wine, and quickly grabbed a couple of glasses for himself and Bruce.

"If we stay right here, we can get loaded and the rest of the evening will be a breeze," he said in a confidential tone to Bruce as he offered him a glass.

"I can't, I'm driving," Bruce reminded him.

"Ooo, more for me…" Jack enthused, drinking the second glass himself.

Eventually the two girls returned, and it was clear that Cindy had found the wine as well. She led Jack away from Rachel and Bruce and soon they could hear her giggles over the noise of the milling art crowd.

"Oh, great, they're both drunk." Rachel said in disgust.

"Yeah, they'll probably elope. Maybe they'll make us godparents to their kids." Bruce loved to yank Rachel's chain whenever possible.

She gave him an appalled look, and walked away. Bruce obediently followed her, but quietly kept an eye on Jack and Cindy; Jack was almost a head taller than she, and Cindy was taking advantage of the crowded conditions to stay pressed against Jack's chest. Jack's appreciative grin told Bruce that he wasn't in need of rescuing, so he concentrated on trying to pay attention to Rachel's comments about the artwork, even though he couldn't have cared less.

Eventually, the group was ready to leave, and they headed for a pizza restaurant for dinner. Seated in a booth, Bruce put his arm around Rachel, who begrudgingly accepted his affection. Everyone was relaxed as they ate their meal, and Bruce was relieved to notice that Rachel seemed to drop her disapproving act when Cindy complained of being cold, and Jack gallantly took off his jacket and wrapped it around her small shoulders. Cindy managed to stay cuddled up to Jack for the rest of the meal, but Rachel pretended not to notice.

"Well, what should we do now?" Bruce asked as they left the restaurant.

"Let's drive around the lake!" piped up Cindy, excitedly. "It's a full moon tonight, it's going to be so pretty!"

"There's a lake around here?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Oh, Bruce, Jack's never seen the lake! We have to go!"

"I don't think that's a very good idea…" Rachel warned. The lake was a notorious making-out spot for the local teens.

"Oh, come on Rachel, I want to see the lake." Jack said firmly. Cindy nodded eagerly in agreement.

"Ok, let's go," said Bruce. Rachel gave him a warning look, but followed along reluctantly.

The lake was beautiful, the bright yellow full moon lit the sky and its reflection on the still water created an almost eerie atmosphere. Bruce made the drive at the slowest possible speed. The inhabitants of the back seat had become curiously quiet, and he glanced in the rearview mirror to see that they were engaged in a passionate kiss.

"Uh-oh," Bruce thought to himself, as he hastily turned on the radio, hoping to keep Rachel distracted.

Suddenly, Cindy piped up from the back seat, "Bruce, pull over here in front of the water. I want Jack to see the pier."

Bruce did as instructed, and Cindy and Jack got out; Cindy grabbed his hand and led him to a fishing pier, where they stood looking out over the water, arms tightly around each other's waist.

"I'm going to kill you, you know," Rachel intoned to Bruce.

"Oh, lighten up, honey! So they hit it off. What's wrong with that?" asked Bruce, honestly bewildered by Rachel's deep disapproval.

She gave him a baleful look, but got out of the car; Bruce followed, put his arm around her, and they took a slow, rather romantic walk down the road to share a private kiss, leaving the other couple to their own devices.

When they returned from their walk, Bruce noticed Jack and Cindy were nowhere to be seen; he had a bad thought, and hurried to approach the car before Rachel got there. As he had suspected, the other couple was in the back seat of the car, and, through the lowered window, he had a lovely view of Jack's bare bottom as he pushed his jeans down to his knees, and Cindy, lying on her back with no top on, making happy, sexy noises as she wrapped her legs eagerly around Jack's waist.

Bruce pulled back hastily just as the car began a slight rocking motion, and he intercepted Rachel, pulling her by her arm toward the pier.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's walk out on the pier! Look at the water, honey, isn't it lovely?"

"Where're Jack and Cindy?"

"Uh…they're busy."

"_Busy?_ What do you mean?…_Oh._" Rachel glanced back at the car, and suddenly got the message.

"Oh, my God. They're _doing it_?" she asked, incensed.

"Uh…well, yeah." Bruce admitted uncomfortably. There was no mistaking the movement of the car or the noises coming from inside.

Rachel stopped and stood in Bruce's path confrontationally.

"This is EXACTLY what I was afraid was going to happen! 'Oh, no, Rachel, Jack will behave, Rachel'—Is this your idea of 'behaving'? What's Harvey going to say?"

Bruce looked past Rachel in time to see a hand come out of the car to drop a used condom onto the ground, and shook his head.

"Harvey and Cindy aren't even dating. Whatever Cindy wants to do with Jack is none of our business." Bruce stalled long enough to judge that zippers could be zipped and blouses and panties slipped back on, and headed for the car.

Rachel followed, still griping.

Jack was sitting up in the back seat with Cindy curled up in his arms. He grinned evilly at Bruce and was brave enough to look Rachel in the eye, which, if looks could kill, he'd have been dead on the spot. They took off, Bruce intent on bringing the evening to a rapid close, when Jack leaned forward, sticking his head between Rachel and Bruce. Rachel made an aggravated sound.

"Cindy wants ice cream." Jack announced.

"Sit back, idiot, and put your seat belt on," Bruce ordered.

"Don't have to," said Jack, sulkily.

"No ice cream!" Rachel stated irritably.

"Hey, who made you two mommy and daddy?" asked Cindy petulantly.

"The fact that SOME of us have reached a higher level of maturity than you doesn't mean we're your parents. I just want to go home!" said Rachel.

"Maybe ice cream _is_ a good idea," said Bruce diplomatically. He headed for the local shop, and the four went in and ordered.

"What do you want, Rachel?" asked Bruce.

"Nothing! I told you, I want to go home!" hissed Rachel.

"Come on, sweetie, don't be like that." Bruce pulled her into his arms and hugged her. "I'll get you something, why don't you find us a table?"

Jack and Cindy were busy reviewing the menu and playing with each other's hands. Bruce felt a flash of jealousy, looking at them, but he was confused as to why. Maybe it was just that he and Rachel had never had that kind of silly, irresponsible fun together; surely it wasn't because of the way Jack was looking at Cindy….no, that was ridiculous. Jack was just a casual new friend that he was trying to help get acclimated in his new school, nothing more….

Bruce bought Rachel a vanilla ice cream cone, and a chocolate one for himself. He covered Jack and Cindy's order, and Jack gave him a grateful look; he whispered "I'll pay you back as soon as I have a job," as Cindy pulled him along to the table.

Rachel was a huffy little volcano set to erupt. When Cindy took Jack's hand with the ice cream cone and licked it in an overly sensuous manner while Jack watched intently, Rachel snapped "Can't you two act like adults for even one minute? Or are you going to make out right here in public?"

"God, Rachel, what's the matter with you?" asked Cindy, getting serious. "We're just having a good time."

Everyone was silent for a minute, then Jack finally said apologetically, "Rachel, Cindy and I really like each other. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. Bruce, maybe you better take us home, like Rachel said. I don't want to cause any problems between you two." His big brown eyes ached with sincerity.

Bruce could have hugged him; every once in a while, he noticed, Jack could pull things together.

Rachel stared at him for a moment, then broke into a gracious smile.

"Oh, don't be silly. I'm sorry I've been so cross. I just…I just take things too seriously, sometimes."

Bruce could hardly believe it…an apology from Rachel? Jack must have some magical powers that only angry women could reveal….

"Let's go catch a late movie." Bruce suggested, and they all agreed, cheerfully.

On the way out of the ice cream shop, Bruce playfully swatted Rachel on her bottom; she squealed and actually responded with an affectionate hug; maybe things were going to be ok, after all, Bruce thought.

Maybe they could try being a little more like Jack and Cindy—the sooner, the better, as far as Bruce was concerned.


	4. Belong

**A/N: All right, my dears, I have heard your cries of impatience…Bruce and Jack are going to get…friendly. Be forewarned, SLASH ahead…Love you guys! Please review and let me know if you liked it.**

**Reene**

Bright and early Saturday morning, Jack sat on the steps of the school, waiting for Bruce to pick him up so he could help him clean out his family's storage area as he had promised. Jack idly thought back over the events of the night before; Cindy was a sweet little thing—nothing like what he had expected. He'd been with rich girls like that before, but Cindy was the first one that seemed to actually _like_ him—mostly, they just used him to piss off their unfaithful boyfriends or controlling fathers.

He found his mind wandering once again to Bruce's embrace from after the fight at the card game. He'd been pondering that quite a bit, and hadn't been able to come to any conclusion about what Bruce's brief kiss had meant, if anything. It probably meant nothing, he knew that. But maybe…

Jack had no intention of misplaying his hand over that—he liked Bruce too much as a friend. No matter how attractive he found him, he wasn't going to risk killing their budding friendship by throwing himself at him. He'd made that mistake before. But he couldn't think of very many things Bruce Wayne might ask of him that he wouldn't be willing to do….

Just then, Bruce drove up, waved and Jack climbed into the convertible. They took off, and Bruce grinned at Jack mischievously.

"So…did you have _fun l_ast night?" he asked in amusement.

"Huh? Well, yeah. It was great. Listen, thanks for paying for everything, Bruce. I'm going to see if they have any openings at that mechanic's shop near my house…I'll pay you back for everything."

"Will you quit worrying about paying me back? Believe me, you've helped me out more than the cost of a few meals could ever make up for."

"Oh yeah, like making your girlfriend mad enough to kill you?" he asked ruefully.

"Well…doing her best friend in the backseat of my car was a little much…"

"Aw, I couldn't help it! Cindy was all over me….she gave me a blow job out on the pier!"

Bruce was eternally grateful that Rachel hadn't been witness to that little scene….

"Jack, have you ever heard of self-control?" Bruce asked laughing.

"No, what's that?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"It's what separates the men from the apes…"

"It's what separates the people who get laid from the ones that don't."

Bruce didn't respond; unfortunately, perhaps, Jack had a point.

"I'm just trying to tell you, Jack, in my crowd there are rules…"

"Rules? You're a damn teenager, Bruce, you're supposed to _break _the rules…"

"Well, you do enough of that for both of us, apparently. It's just that, most of us are thinking about the future…getting into the right college, marrying the right person…."

Jack stared at him blankly for a moment, then remarked "I have no future, Bruce. I'll be lucky to be able to get a job." He settled back in the bucket seat, slumping down with his eyes raised to the sky.

"What do you mean by that? Of course you do. You're a smart guy, you can get a scholarship, go to school, do whatever you want."

Jack didn't respond, just shook his head stubbornly. "It's not that simple, Bruce." he said quietly. Just then they turned into the long drive that led to Wayne Manor, and Jack sat up, eager to see the place in the daylight. He took in the sights of the manicured lawns and opulent landscaping with awe.

"This is so beautiful…who all lives here?" he asked, curious.

"Just me and Alfred. I mean, there's servants…a maid, a cook, the gardener…but they come and go. Alfred actually lives here with me…"

"What happened to your parents?"

Bruce gave Jack a brief version of the traumatic events of the night his parents were taken away from him. Jack nodded in sympathy.

"Don't you just want to find the guy that did it and kill him?"

Bruce didn't answer; he had struggled with that very thought for many years.

"Here we are. Come on, I'll introduce you to Alfred."

Alfred was cleaning up the kitchen; Saturday was the cook's day off and he had made a light breakfast for the boys, to give them the strength to face the manual labor that lay before them.

"Alfred, this is my friend, Jack Ramsey. He's going to give me a hand with the storage room today."

"Yes, of course, how are you today, Master Ramsey?"

Jack had never been addressed as "Master" before, but he shook Alfred's hand shyly, smiled politely, and answered "I'm doing ok, sir." The older man seemed kind, and he wanted to make a good impression, since he was basically like a father to Bruce.

"Very good. Would you gentlemen care for some breakfast before you get started?"

The boys were happy to dig in to juice, coffee, toasted croissants with jam, and fruit. Afterwards, Bruce led Jack to the basement storage area.

It was a large, windowless room with year after year of accumulated furniture, boxes, and miscellaneous odd objects that fascinated Jack, such as a real stuffed tiger, a dress form, several old typewriters and numerous paintings. Everything was covered in dust and there was no rhyme or reason to the way things were placed.

"What is all this stuff, anyway?" Jack asked in amazement.

"It's just stuff from the house that Alfred gets sick of cleaning. Every few years, he basically takes everything that he thinks we don't need anymore and brings it down here. I don't think he's ever gotten rid of anything. He says I'm finally old enough to take responsibility for all this junk, and I should decide what to keep and what to get rid of."

"Ok, where do we start?"

Bruce picked a corner and they started sorting things into keep, give away, and trash piles; Bruce was glad to find that, contrary to his assertion of extreme laziness, Jack was actually energetic and enthusiastic about the work, helping Bruce drag heavy furniture around, restacking boxes, and doing whatever was needed to get the project under control. They worked non-stop for a few hours, when Alfred came down to tell Bruce that he was going into town for some groceries.

"I'll pick up a few things and have lunch ready for you lads about 1:00, if that is acceptable, Master Wayne?"

"Sure, Alfred, we'll be ready for a break by then." Bruce watched Alfred disappear up the stairs and listened for the sound of the car firing up. He turned to Jack and said mischievously, "I think I'm ready for a break _now_. You want to play some video games?"

Jack grinned. "Oh, shirking your duty, are you? Well, go ahead and be a bad influence on me, I'm highly corruptible."

The boys headed up to the game room, a comfortable wood-paneled den with an audio/video system that rivaled most commercial theaters, a large leather couch and a couple of plush easy chairs. Bruce set up one of the game systems and gave Jack a choice of games to play; they picked a combat game and started playing competitively; Bruce was a better player simply due to having much more experience and access to the game, but Jack was a quick study, plus he wasn't above openly—and gleefully—cheating.

They had played almost 45 minutes, and Bruce had come close to winning a hard-fought battle, when Jack mischievously grabbed Bruce's remote access controller and sabotaged his win.

"You _bastard_!!" Bruce shouted in amusement and frustration. "Oh, you will pay for that!" Jack hastily rose to his feet and made off with the controller to the safety of the other side of the couch; Bruce launched himself over the furniture and grabbed Jack from behind, picked him up and threw him onto his back on the cushy couch. Jack was laughing hysterically, and almost righted himself in preparation for escape, but Bruce came right over the back of the couch to straddle Jack's hips and grab his wrists in order to subdue him enough to regain possession of the controller.

"Ok, hand it over _now_!"

"No!" Jack was choking with laugher at Bruce's extreme aggravation. "Get used to it Bruce, you're a loser, L-O-S-E-R! Where's your future, now, eh?"

"I'll show you where my future is, you cheating little fucker…" Bruce forcibly tore the remote from Jack's hand and playfully pulled his fist back as if to hit Jack, who laughingly cowered and tried to shield his face in mock terror.

But Bruce still had one wrist in his firm grip, and instead of hitting him, Bruce suddenly found himself feeling strangely aroused, his cock growing hard as he slid lower on Jack's skinny body in order to support himself on his elbow. He stared down at Jack's laughing brown eyes, so alive and bright with mischief. He looked at Jack's full lower lip with its long, deep scar, wondering how that happened, and how it would feel to just gently run his finger across it.

He lowered his face closer to Jack's, slowly…slowly. He wasn't laughing anymore, and Jack realized that what he was feeling being dragged along the length of his thigh wasn't some inanimate object in Bruce's pocket as he had originally thought. He looked into Bruce's eyes and saw desire; suddenly, his every muscle tensed with the effort of staying still.

Jack felt like a predator waiting for the helpless rabbit to get into just the right position so he could pounce. He knew that if he overplayed his role, he would send Bruce flying off of him, and probably never have this chance again. So, he forced himself to relax, not to move a single muscle, even though he desperately wanted to meet Bruce's shy entreaty with a welcoming kiss and to wrap himself around the older boy.

Bruce, maddeningly, paused with his lips millimeters above Jack's; there was something so deeply ingrained in his mind and body, telling him not to do it, he shouldn't do it, _not to break this rule_, that it was almost an invisible shield between his lips and Jack's. But, Jack was too beautiful, too perfect lying beneath him, warm and sweaty from work and play, too delicious an opportunity to disregard what he was feeling.

Eyes wide open, Jack felt Bruce's cool dry lips gently press against his; the second contact was made, he responded with every fiber of his body, opening his mouth, slipping his tongue between Bruce's closed lips, wrapping his arms around Bruce's muscular torso, parting his legs so his thighs were pressed against Bruce's waist, grinding his own erection against the thick layers of denim that separated him from Bruce.

Bruce could never have imagined a boy's mouth could be so impossibly sweet, so eager, so wet and warm; he could never have imagined that Jack Ramsey's scrawny body could feel like redemption beneath him, like salvation, like heaven…Bruce buried his face in Jack's neck, smelling him, feeling the slight bristle of his blonde facial hair lightly scratch his jaw, making his desire more sharp, more irresistible…

Jack nuzzled Bruce's face, wishing he'd start kissing him again. He was so afraid of scaring him off he didn't dare do what he wanted, which was to offer Bruce anything, _everything,_ he might want from him. Instead, he carefully wriggled out from under Bruce, causing the older boy to worry that he was trying to get away from him, but he was quickly reassured when he found that Jack's intention was to gain easier access to the front of his jeans.

Once they were lying side by side, Jack ran his hand over Bruce's erection, squeezing him through the fabric, using his nails to make better contact. Bruce moaned in spite of himself; "Jack, don't" he whispered, but they both knew he didn't mean it.

Jack simply started fumbling with Bruce's belt, getting it open eventually, then tugging at his zipper; Bruce made no effort to either help him or to stop him, but Jack could feel his apprehension as he allowed himself to be led down a path he knew better than to follow.

Jack's slender hand was warm and sure as he took Bruce's cock out and began firmly slipping the silky skin up and down over the hardness inside; Jack looked into Bruce's eyes reassuringly, gave him a shaky smile, and whispered hoarsely, "Its ok, Bruce, really, it's ok…" Bruce pulled Jack closer to him, kissed him, and let him continue stroking him until Jack suddenly slid off the couch into a kneeling position and took Bruce into his mouth.

Wet and slick, Jack's lips slid over Bruce's member. His tongue began washing over the slit, running in circles over the head, then down along the shaft and back up again. Returning him into his mouth, Jack first used his teeth to carefully bite repeatedly into the thick, hard member, causing Bruce a series of low moans. Then he let Bruce's cock slide down deep into his throat, forcing himself to relax the muscles that might make him gag.

This caused a sharp cry from Bruce as he began to work his way toward orgasm. Jack switched to bobbing his head up and down, sucking him hard, alternating with using his tongue when he got tired, and finally taking Bruce's semen as it shot onto the back of his throat and swallowing the tart-tasting, musky liquid.

Afterward, Jack lay his head in Bruce's lap for a moment, wondering what his reaction would be; he was prepared for anything, from grudging thanks to bitter revulsion and rejection, even anger, but instead, Bruce simply ran his hand through Jack's thick dark-blonde curls and then reached for him, to lovingly pull him back up onto the couch next to him.

They lay there together, Jack holding tightly to Bruce's body, so as not to slip off; not to lose contact. So as not to be lost. God, please, not to be lost anymore….

Bruce held him just as tight, feeling something he didn't understand, but he didn't care anymore. Jack was all he cared about at that moment, and he didn't want to feel any other way ever again, no matter how scary the feelings were.

He wanted to touch Jack the way _he_ had touched _him_, to give him the kind of pleasure he had given to him, but he couldn't bring himself even to try; he kissed his new lover deeply instead, caressing his face, making promises in his head for later, later when he had sorted everything out….

They heard the sound of Alfred's steps coming up the hall, and both boys sat up like a shot, Bruce checking his fly and belt, and Jack taking deep breaths to try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Alfred stuck his head in the room and said, "I'll just get started on lunch, Master Bruce—is that all right?"

"Yes, of course, Alfred. You caught us goofing off, I'm afraid…"

"Perfectly all right, Master Bruce, you and your friend have already made amazing progress! Good work so far!" Alfred smiled approvingly at the two industrious young men and bustled off to the kitchen.

Bruce and Jack looked at each other in consternation, and then burst out laughing. Alfred was _so_ right….


	5. Overnight Guest

After lunch, the boys reluctantly headed back to the basement to continue with their project; Alfred went along to help, much to Jack's regret; if he had not been around, Jack would have seen to it that Bruce would not have gotten much more work done at all.

But, things began looking up when Bruce began to bemoan the hopelessness of getting done with the task that same day…

"Alfred, there is no way we're going to finish this today, you'll just have to get over it," pronounced Bruce firmly.

"But, Master Wayne, so much has been done, and we're so close to finishing, you aren't proposing that we give up now?"

"I most certainly am—I'm tired, and I know Jack must be, too. I say we throw in the towel and save the rest for another day."

"Master Wayne! I must say, based on previous experience with your so-called 'work' habits, that day will never come. I think we need to attend to this _now_," rejoined Alfred.

Bruce continued to grouse at the idea of working late into the night, filling and toting trash bags and Goodwill boxes out to the garage.

"Well, may I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Alfred.

"What?" asked Bruce, sourly.

"Do you think if you invited Master Ramsey to stay over, the two of you gentlemen could find it within your frail and delicate constitutions to get up early and finish the task? Perhaps a good night's sleep and some breakfast in the morning would revive you."

Jack had been following the exchange with amusement. He wasn't sure he understood Bruce and Alfred's relationship, as in who actually had authority over the other, but he found Alfred's affectionate teasing of his young charge most enjoyable. He wasn't used to adults treating kids with respect while still managing to take them down a peg.

Then, the sudden turn of events—the possibility of spending the night with Bruce—caught him off guard. He stared at his friend, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

Bruce was pretending to mull over the suggestion, ignoring Alfred's snide insult to his work ethic; he glanced over at Jack, and asked skeptically, "Well? What do you think, Jack? Would you mind staying over here tonight and tackling this mess first thing in the morning?"

"Uh…I guess so." Jack didn't want to appear overly eager in front of Alfred.

"Will your parents allow it, sir? I'll be happy to give them a call." Alfred remembered that he had never met the new boy's family and that they might be concerned for their son staying at a stranger's house overnight.

Jack almost laughed out loud—his foster parents barely noticed his existence under the most dire of circumstances; they wouldn't care, or likely even notice, if he didn't come home one night, as long as their support check continued to come in.

"It won't be a problem, sir," said Jack assured Alfred quietly.

"Ah, well, nevertheless, I'd like to give them a quick call, as a courtesy. May I have the number?"

Jack suspected that they'd have to think long and hard to remember who Jack Ramsey was, but he gave the name and number of his foster parents to Alfred, who jotted the information down.

"Very well, after I chat with them, I'll prepare the guest room. May I suggest we have pizza delivered tonight?"

"You are just full of great suggestions tonight, Alfred," said Bruce, approvingly, casting a sly glance at Jack.

Jack grinned, a little embarrassed; he was quite accustomed to sneaking around with girlfriends, but not usually right under their parent's nose like this….

After Alfred left, Bruce came over to Jack and pulled him into his arms for a long kiss. Jack shut his eyes and eagerly returned it; he loved the way Bruce's strong, muscular arms felt around him, and how his lips and tongue felt exploring his mouth, more confident and demanding than he was earlier in the afternoon. Finally, Bruce released him and looked into his eyes.

"You really want to stay over?" he asked curiously. He still couldn't believe Jack was such a willing partner in this new adventure….

"God, Bruce, of course. What about my behavior this afternoon makes you think I wouldn't?" asked Jack, smiling wryly.

"I…I don't know, Jack...you sounded a little hesitant…this is all new to me." Bruce sounded worried.

"Well…I'm not used to having an adult in the house when I make out with somebody…I guess I just don't want to get you into trouble with Alfred."

"Don't worry about that…we'll be careful." Bruce meant that. He thought he would die if Alfred knew his intended bed partner was a boy.

***

The guys came to a stopping point with the mess in the storage room and headed upstairs to the game room; Bruce put on a movie, and when the pizza arrived, he invited Alfred to watch the show and eat with them. Jack was amazed at how easily both Bruce and Alfred seemed to accept him into their home; he felt like he'd been a part of the family for years.

After the movie ended, Bruce yawned and said, "I'm ready for bed, how about you?" to Jack, who nodded in agreement.

Alfred said, "All right, Master Ramsey, allow me to show you to the guest room."

The boys followed Alfred upstairs and he showed Jack where he had laid out a set of night clothes for his use, the bathroom and toiletries at his disposal, and where extra towels and blankets were kept.

"I trust if you need anything else, sir, you'll ask Master Bruce for it. _I'm_ going to bed," he said dryly. "But, if I may have a moment of your time, Master Bruce?"

"Sure, Alfred." Bruce glanced at Jack and shrugged in a "Don't have a clue" expression.

Bruce followed Alfred out of the room, and Jack took the opportunity to bounce on the big, soft bed for a moment, appreciating the luxury of it, and then to take a quick shower in a sparkling clean bathroom. _Luxury._

Bruce was bewildered by Alfred's attitude.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"Well, Master Bruce, I spoke with young Mr. Ramsey's father, or rather, his foster father…"

"Yes, Alfred, I know that Jack lives in a foster home…"

"Yes, sir. Did you know he's had a spot of trouble with the law?"

"Uh…like what?" Bruce wondered.

"Well, apparently he's been caught engaging in vandalism, shoplifting, and just recently, was reprimanded for using drugs."

"Smoking pot?"

"Yes, sir." Alfred's expression was impassive.

"I knew about that, Alfred. Not about the other stuff…"

"I don't mean to interfere with your choice of friends, sir. Mr. Ramsey appears to be a very nice boy, and I believe the incidents mentioned happened some time in the past. I would just suggest…being careful, sir."

"Jack's my friend, Alfred. I trust him."

"Yes, sir. All the more reason to be cautious. A boy like that…well. Just be cautious, sir, until you get to know him a bit better."

Alfred gave Bruce a meaningful look, and turned to leave. Bruce sighed; he knew Alfred was just looking out for him, but he sometimes wished he would just mind his own business.

When Bruce was certain Alfred had retired for the evening, he returned to Jack's room. Jack had turned on the television and was lying at the foot of the bed on his stomach, chin in hand. Bruce lay down next to him in the same pose.

"Jeeze, what was that all about?" Jack asked, turning to look at his friend.

"Apparently, your foster dad felt the need to clue Alfred in on all your past crimes," Bruce informed him.

"Oh…yeah." Jack turned back to the TV and stared straight ahead. That figured. Now, would Bruce want to get rid of him?

"Vandalism? Shoplifting? You're a real problem child, aren't you?" Bruce asked, a grin on his face.

Jack looked him in the eye. "It was a long time ago, Bruce. I'm trying to do better. I don't want to end up like my…" He stopped and turned back to the TV. Bruce put his arm around him.

"Hey…I don't care what you've done. I just want to be with you, now." He pressed his cheek to Jack's, and Jack put his hand against the side of his face and pulled him closer. They kissed, then Jack playfully pushed him away. "You just want me to give you another blow job," Jack said scornfully, turning over, facing away from Bruce.

Bruce was a little taken aback; he knew he was just going to have to get used to Jack's blunt honesty, but he still wasn't quite ready to use such crude terms…. He wrapped his arms around Jack and hugged him tightly from behind.

"No, Jack…I want to make you feel like I did when we…" he couldn't say the words, but Jack knew.

"Yeah? So, go ahead, I'm not stopping you…." Jack taunted him.

"I…I don't know what to do…" Bruce said awkwardly.

Jack took pity on him and took his hand, guiding it down to the front of the flannel draw-string pants Alfred had given him to sleep in. "Just touch me, Bruce…" he said kindly.

Bruce did exactly that…holding him tightly with his left arm and using his right hand to grasp Jack's semi-erect member through the thin fabric, he was fascinated to feel the twitch and strain as he became harder. He then reached shyly into the garment to gently take the warm flesh in his hand. Jack's back was against his chest, and Bruce could feel taut muscles and the sharpness of his shoulder blades as Jack arched his bony frame against him.

Jack turned to look at the other boy, and grinned in amusement at Bruce's tenderness.

"Aw, come on, Bruce, is this how you jerk yourself off? No wonder you're always frustrated. Go ahead, give it a good yank, you won't pull it off…"

Bruce laughed, embarrassed, but he got the message. He proceeded to apply firm pressure, stroking harder and harder, loving the way Jack thrust against his hand. Jack reached up to wrap an arm around Bruce's neck and turned his head to press a kiss against Bruce's cheek in smiling approval. "Now, that's more like it…" Jack said in a lusty whisper.

Bruce hugged him closer and managed to continue his attentions while guiding Jack into position so he could find his warm mouth for a deep kiss. It was lost on neither of them that Bruce's member was rock hard, pressed against Jack's rear, and that he was clearly enjoying the delicious friction produced by Jack's eager thrusting. Bruce responded with a few tentative thrusts of his own….

Jack was getting close to orgasm; his eyes were closed and he strained and rocked against Bruce's hand. "God, Bruce, come on, keep going…please…" he rasped.

Jack cried out, but it was only after Bruce felt the warm, thick liquid spill onto his hand that he released him. Jack snuggled against him, a delicious, limp bundle, as he recovered from his release. Bruce finally pulled him into a sitting position and indicated he should accompany him in crawling under the covers for sleep. Both boys were exhausted, and they quickly drifted off, Bruce holding Jack securely in his arms.


	6. Interview

**A/N: Ok, I need guidance! What do I do about Rachel and Bruce's relationship? Suggestions?? Thanks, and thanks for reading!!**

**--Reeniecat**

Bruce found sleeping with Jack to be a dicey proposition; not only was he unsettled by the very new experience of sharing his bed with another person, and another guy at that, but Jack was a fitful sleeper, given to tossing and turning, and talking in his sleep. More than once, Bruce seriously considered getting up and heading for the tranquility of his own room.

And, undoubtedly, Alfred would come knocking on his door at a despicably early hour to persuade him to get back to the storage room job, and he didn't want to be in the wrong bed at that moment.

Even so, Bruce finally managed to fall into a deep and sustained sleep, vowing to wake up even earlier than his butler, only to discover he had slept through the night. He awoke with the early light of dawn creeping through the guest room windows and the muffled sound of a knock, and then Alfred's voice at Bruce's room next door.

"Dammit!" Bruce sat straight up, in a minor panic; Jack was, himself, finally in a state of deep sleep next to him, and he didn't immediately respond to Bruce's stressed command to wake up.

"Jack! Get up, right now! Alfred's going to find me in here, and you better be awake and dressed when he does!"

"Huh…? What? _Alfred_…oh, for God's sake, just tell him we fell asleep watching a movie…" Jack smushed his face back into his pillow, waving his hand dismissively at Bruce's angst.

Bruce calmed down and considered; the TV _had_ been on all night…it was a reasonable explanation. Ok, he could do this. He could lie to Alfred.

The knock came momentarily; Bruce slid out of bed and opened the door, making a show of yawning innocently.

"Master Bruce, there you are…I was hoping you and Master Ramsey would find it in your hearts to get up and come down for breakfast, before returning to your task?"

"Ok, Alfred, ok…gee, I must have nodded off last night while we were watching the late show…I'll make Jack wake up and we'll be downstairs in a jiffy…"

"Very good, sir…I'll have breakfast on the table." He nodded, pleased, and headed downstairs.

Bruce returned to the warm, comfortable bed and pulled Jack into his arms…"Hey, jerk, wake up…" he said fondly.

"Go away…"

"I'm serious, it's time to get up…"

"Fuck you."

"We've got work to do, Alfred's got breakfast ready…get up, now!" Bruce planted a kiss on Jack's mouth, making him smile with his eyes still closed.

"Well, now you're getting me interested…" Jack murmured, sleepily wrapping himself around Bruce.

"Never mind _that_, come on, come on, up and at 'em…" Bruce reluctantly pushed his companion onto his back and got up, himself. He went around to the other side of the bed and hauled Jack into an upright position, causing howls of protest, but ultimately accomplishing the goal of getting Jack to unwillingly roll out of bed….

The boys finished the job, Alfred gave them lunch, then they awkwardly sat at the table together, neither sure what to say.

"Uh, Bruce? I need to get home…I've got a ton of homework to do." Jack said hesitantly.

"Yeah, me too…ok, I'll run you home as soon as we clear the table…"

Both of them were quiet on the drive to Jack's house. As Bruce pulled up at the curb, they finally looked at each other, and each smiled uncertainly.

"Well, thanks for all your help, Jack. I'd never have gotten through that mess without you."

"No problem, it was kind of fun. I've never seen so much junk in one place before…"

"Yeah, well, maybe it'll go another sixteen years before I have to look in there again."

"Yeah…so, I'll see you tomorrow, huh?" Jack said, getting out of the car.

"Yep. See ya…" Bruce held his hand up in farewell.

"See ya…" Jack gave a small wave, turned and headed to his door.

Bruce drove off, wondering why his insides suddenly felt so empty.

***

It was Tuesday night. The CPS case worker in charge of monitoring Jack's progress had arrived for their monthly interview.

She took Jack for a soda at a nearby fast food place.

"So, good evening, Jack, how are you?" Ms. Carla Menendez asked brightly.

"I'm ok." Jack replied unenthusiastically. He hated these interviews.

"How do you like your new school?"

"It's fine."

"Making any new friends?"

"A few."

"Have you joined any activities, sports or clubs—anything like that?"

"Nope."

"How are your grades, so far?"

"Good."

"Found a job, yet?"

He shook his head. "I think I can get on at Errol's auto shop, though. I'm going to ask after school tomorrow."

"Good! I hope you get it." It was always a big plus when one of her kids actually found work.

Carla paused to consult her checklist of required questions. She looked back up at Jack's sullen expression.

"Jack, are you having sex?"

Jack hated being asked such questions, mostly because there was never a right answer. If he said "yes" that would lead to more questions; if he said "no" the interviewer would either want to know why not, or not believe him. He just shrugged.

"It's ok, Jack…are you using protection?"

He nodded. If he was doing it with a girl, he definitely used protection.

"What about drugs?"

He shook his head emphatically. "No, I don't mess with that stuff anymore."

Carla gave him a hard look.

"Pull up your sleeves, Jack."

"Aw, come on…it's been years…"

"I have to check your arms, Jack. You know that."

Irritated, he complied, pulling his long sleeves up past his elbows and stretching his skinny arms out for inspection.

She took each arm and turned it to the right and to the left, following the lines of his prominent, ropy blue veins. They were clean. She noted, as always, the ugly scar running up his left wrist and forearm. Satisfied, she returned to her clipboard.

"Alcohol?"

He shrugged again. "I don't get drunk. It's just like, you know, at parties and stuff."

"How's the depression, are you taking your medication?"

"Yeah. I'm about to run out, though."

"I'll call to remind Mrs. McKinney to pick it up for you."

Carla stared curiously at the handsome but difficult young man before her. He avoided her gaze.

"Ok, Jack. Anything _you_ want to tell _me_?"

He shook his head "no". _Almost over_…

"Oh, I see your birthday is coming up next week—Happy Birthday in advance."

Her words stung; he had completely forgotten. It would be four years ago that his mother had died a few days before his birthday, and there was no one to take note of the day anymore…except some case worker whose job it was to notice things like that. He didn't answer her.

Carla made a mental note to remind Jack's foster mother, Mrs. McKinney, to at least say Happy Birthday to him, for God's sake. Surely she could manage that.

***

The next week, on the afternoon before his birthday, Jack waited for Bruce by his locker.

"Hey, Jack, what's up?" Bruce asked, happy to see him. Seeing Jack always filled him with a combination of excitement and anxiety; he hadn't yet figured out a way to safely spend time with him away from school without arousing suspicion, and he was sure someone—probably Rachel—would figure out what he was thinking if he was too friendly with him _at_ school.

"Uh, Bruce…do you think I could come over to your place tomorrow and hang out? I know it's a pain having to bring me home and all, but…"

"Oh—sure, Jack…I've got football practice right after class—you can wait for me, then we can go to my house. We can order pizza, and maybe you can help me with that damn English assignment—I can't seem to get anywhere with it."

"Yeah, that'd be great." Jack's smile was a mixture of pain and relief. He knew Bruce was going through some stuff as a result of their intimacy, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable—but he couldn't bear the thought of sitting in his room alone on that particular day. And, anyway, Bruce was going to have to let him be a part of his life, somehow, eventually. Even if it meant they had to go back to being just friends.


	7. Birthday

**A/N: There has been a cry for more fluff; well, here you go. For now…hope you like, let me know (good **_**or **_**bad)!! Love my readers, adore my reviewers!!**

The next day, in first period, the instructor was making morning announcements.

"Ok, class, don't forget the Debate Club is holding a bake sale on Friday to fund their trip to Washington…we still need people on the yearbook committee…hey, looks like we have some birthdays coming up this week. Kelly's is this Thursday, Ryan's on Saturday…oh, wait, Jack Ramsey? _Today's_ your birthday…I'm sorry! I almost overlooked it…Happy Birthday!"

Jack wished he could disappear into his seat. Everybody turned to look at him, some half-heartedly murmuring "Happy Birthday", and he just closed his eyes and frowned. _Great…._ After a moment, he opened his eyes and saw Bruce looking at him, his brows knit in consternation. Bruce pointed a wagging finger at him and mouthed "We have to talk…"

Jack shook his head and turned back to the drone of the teacher's voice as she proceeded to discuss some damn war or another….

After class, Jack scooted out as fast as possible only to find Bruce in close pursuit. He felt Bruce's hand close on his upper arm and he reluctantly stopped and turned to face him.

"What?" he asked stonily.

"Why didn't you tell me today was your birthday, you twit? We could have done something fun…I'd have planned to take you to dinner or something…"

"Yeah, well that's why I didn't tell you…birthdays are stupid excuses to humiliate people, I don't want any part of it…I just didn't, you know, want to be at my house tonight because it's too depressing…but that doesn't mean I wanted to make a big deal out of it." Jack stared away from Bruce, wishing he would just let it go.

"Ok, Jack…" Bruce said, sounding a little put out. "Well, I'll make it up to you sometime. Tonight, you'll have to settle for pizza and homework."

"That's all I wanted, Bruce. _Thank_ you." Jack said huffily.

They stared at each other for a tense moment. Then it was time to head off in separate directions.

"I've got to go…" Jack muttered. He turned and took off.

When Bruce was sure Jack was out of earshot, he stepped into an empty classroom, took out his forbidden cell phone and called Alfred.

***

That afternoon, Jack sat in the bleachers, engrossed in homework, waiting for Bruce to finish with football practice. After Bruce cleaned up, he motioned for Jack to come along, and he drove them to Wayne Manor.

Jack followed Bruce inside and they headed to the dark formal dining room; suddenly, the lights came on, and a chorus of "Surprise!" came out of nowhere, startling Jack to no end.

"Huh? What's going on?" he asked Bruce in dismay.

"Happy Birthday, Jack, that's what's going on!" said Bruce with a "gotcha" grin.

Rachel, Harvey, Cindy and Jim Gordon were all there with Alfred, and a lovely gourmet dinner that Alfred had prepared himself was on the table. There were a few brightly wrapped boxes in a chair on the side of the room, and a cake. Everyone was smiling at him, and Jack suddenly felt like crying.

"I really hate you…" he hissed to Bruce, but it was clear he didn't mean it.

"Well, good, then my work is done. Come on, let's eat!"

They all sat down and Alfred served up the main course, an English-style roast beef.

Jack found himself seated by Rachel, and he tapped her on the arm.

"I thought you didn't like me." he whispered in curiosity.

"Oh, Jack…I just didn't want you dating my best friend. But you know, it's not your fault she's a slut…anyway, she and Harvey are together now, after all…I hope you're not too disappointed about that," she said kindly.

"No, that's ok. We didn't have too much in common anyway…" Jack thought that was probably the understatement of the year.

"And, you've been such a good friend to Bruce…I really appreciate that. So, yeah, I guess I kind of like you after all," she said with a sheepish smile.

Jack smiled back, but he felt a little twinge of guilt. Before he could mull that situation over too much, Bruce stood up, holding a glass of illicit wine for a toast.

"Ok, everybody, quiet down now. I want to say something. To our new friend Jack—we haven't known you very long, buddy, but you've already shaken up every one of our dull little suburban lives in one way or another, and for that I thank you. I shudder to think what's going to happen now that you can get your license; I, for one, plan to give up ever being a pedestrian again…however—whatever you do—I know it'll be interesting! Happy Birthday!"

Everyone was laughing and cheering, and they clinked glasses together. Cindy came around the table to give Jack a warm hug, much to Harvey's irritation, but the evening proceeded in good humor and without incident.

Jack felt amazed and bewildered by the kindness and companionship he was being shown; it was a far cry from anything he had ever experienced before. He was even more overwhelmed when Rachel gathered up the boxes and set them down in front of him.

"Open your presents, Jack…" she directed.

"Yeah, I gave you some decent booze, let's crack that one open first…" said Harvey, jovially.

Jack laughed, and began opening the presents; Harvey's was, indeed, a bottle of whiskey, which Jack handed to him to open and pass around; Rachel and Cindy had gone in together and bought him a couple of nice t-shirts; and then a small box with no name on it was all that was left.

He looked curiously at Bruce as he opened the present. Inside, he found a set of vintage car keys for a Dodge Charger; he looked up, bewildered. "What's this?"

"Well, obviously, they're for a car…the catch is it doesn't run. However, I hear you're a pretty good shade tree mechanic. If you can get the damn thing running and out of my garage, it's yours. Right, Alfred?"

"Exactly, Master Bruce. Your father bought that car over 15 years ago, intending to fix it up himself, but he never got the chance. You're welcome to come over whenever you'd like to work on it, Master Ramsey."

Jack was completely blown away.

He bit his lip, and looked up at his friend, smiling devilishly next to him. He got up and hugged him, unable to speak; Bruce patted him on the back, and everyone applauded. Alfred put candles on the cake and lit them, and the little group sang "Happy Birthday" to Jack..

After eating Alfred's delicious dessert, the rest of the gang got up to leave. Both girls hugged Jack; Harvey shook his hand, and Jim took him aside to apologize for the false rumor about Jack getting locked up for drugs. "I'm really sorry about that, man, I just remembered your name and that my dad had stopped to talk to you; I never said any of the things that that idiot Brent was going on about."

"It's ok; people have said plenty worse things about me…" Jack smiled ruefully.

"Well, it's good to have you at our school. You're a fucking breath of fresh air." Jim assured him.

Once everyone left, Bruce took Jack to the garage to see the car. One side of the fender was a bit beat up, the paint was faded in places, and the interior wasn't perfect, but overall, it looked nice. However, Jack opened the hood, and could see his had his work cut out for him.

"Hmm. I have a feeling you're going to be seeing a lot of me…" he said to Bruce.

Bruce checked the garage door to make sure it was securely shut, and took Jack into his arms.

"That's the idea, Jack. Happy Birthday." He kissed him deeply and Jack felt himself melting into the embrace. Once again, he wished he could offer Bruce whatever he wanted from him, freely and without worry or guilt. Oh, well, it was beginning to look like that time might actually come…eventually.

***


	8. Together

**A/N: Sorry to take so long to update! Hope you like this chapter…it gets a little steamy, Jack/Bruce-wise…let me know!!**

**Reeniecat**

Rachel Dawes was mystified by her boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. For weeks, he had been romancing her in a thinly veiled crusade to get her into bed. She had repeatedly explained to him that she wasn't ready yet; that there was too much at stake with school work, drill team, singing in the school choir…she just couldn't deal with Bruce pressuring her.

And now, magically, he had stopped.

Stopped, and become big buddies with Jack Ramsey. Rachel didn't understand it. She certainly didn't understand what it was about Jack that Bruce liked so much; sure, he was kind of charming, and funny in an oddball way…but, he was nothing like Harvey, Bruce's best friend, a real man's man. Harvey was…so masculine…a football player, a no-nonsense kind of guy. Handsome…well, now that he was going with Cindy, there was no point in entertaining thoughts like those. No, she had to figure out what was going on with Bruce, and why he was suddenly such a…gentleman.

***

Bruce and Jack were lying on Bruce's bed; it was a Wednesday night, and Jack had come home with Bruce so he could work on the car. Wednesday was Alfred's "night out"—Bruce wasn't entirely sure where he went, but he had long suspected that Alfred had a lady friend on the other side of town.

Both boys were fully clothed, leisurely kissing, caressing and touching one another unhurriedly for a change. Bruce ran his hand up under Jack's shirt, gently exploring his chest, sliding his fingertips down over his stomach, down to the front of his jeans…Jack had a more direct approach, and he grasped Bruce's erection through his pants.

Bruce rolled on top of Jack, and as he kissed him deeply, he started working his erection between Jack's leg and pubic area, through the thick fabric of their jeans. Jack lay quietly, accepting the action, but feeling more than a little frustrated. Finally, he said hesitantly, "Um, Bruce?…ya _know_…you can…fuck me—if you want…."

Bruce stopped what he was doing and looked down at the handsome, blonde boy that felt so good under him. "Uh…_what_?" he asked uncertainly. He was powerfully aroused and busy concentrating on maintaining control…the words stabbed into his consciousness like a knife.

Jack looked away, staring out the window. He bit his lower lip.

"I just mean…you know… if you _wanted_ to …I'm ok with it." He knew he was on shaky ground.

Bruce rolled off of him and both boys lay staring up at the ceiling.

"God, I don't know, Jack, I've never done anything like that with a guy before…"

"Yeah, I know. Forget it, I shouldn't have brought it up…"

"No, no, I'm not saying I don't _want_ to…Jack, I just don't know what I'm _doing_ with you."

"Well, you're not getting laid properly, I'll tell you that." Jack informed him, glancing at him with a grin.

Bruce frowned and thought over Jack's words carefully.

"I'm _not _queer, Jack," stated Bruce, suddenly reproachful. Some vestige of Bruce's staid upbringing was squeezing his soul, and he found himself somehow wanting to shame Jack for his easy approach to sex.

"I _know_ that…look, never mind." Jack was now mildly irritated, and he sat up and started to stand. He'd obviously crossed some line, and needed to go home. Bruce immediately grabbed his arm and brought him back down beside him.

"Wait…wait. What do you want me to…do?" Bruce asked, with a tone of apprehension. "You'll have to tell me what to do…"

"No, forget it. I'm not going to be responsible for you wallowing in guilt for the next nine hundred years…" said Jack sulkily.

They both lay back down together, again staring up at the ceiling in varying degrees of frustration.

"Have you…been with a lot of guys, Jack?" asked Bruce tentatively.

"You mean, have I _fucked_ a lot of guys? _NO._ And when I did, it wasn't exactly _my _idea…"

Bruce felt a twinge of distress at where this was going.

"Jesus, Jack, you mean…"

"It's happened a couple of times, and it wasn't any fun. You're the first guy I ever actually _wanted _to… 'be with', as you put it. Like that."

"Jack…please, come here." Bruce gathered him in his arms and kissed him.

"I just think it'd be…good…doing it with _you_. _If _you wanted to," Jack said, his voice tight with emotion. He wasn't used to being so upfront about his feelings.

"I…I don't think I've ever wanted anything so much in my life…" Bruce finally, reluctantly admitted.

"Yeah?" Jack looked up at him inquisitively.

"Yeah." Bruce hugged him tightly and buried his face in the nape of Jack's warm neck, breathing in his scent of faint soap and fresh sweat.

They lay in each other's arms for a long moment.

"So…you want to?" asked Jack.

Bruce nodded. He had to stop second-guessing himself and just trust his gut. And trust Jack.

"Wait a minute…" Jack got up and returned with a bottle of hand lotion.

It took Bruce a minute to realize what it was for. …

"Oh, God," he breathed, worriedly.

Jack grinned in amusement.

"What are _you _worrying about, I'm the one about to be violated by someone who doesn't know what he's doing."

Jack stood up and began to undress. Bruce watched intently; he was more excited than he had ever been in his life. He hastily got off the bed and began removing his shirt and jeans, leaving on his underwear. Jack was already naked, and lay down next to him, pulling him on top of him.

They kissed, and Bruce found himself losing his inhibitions in the warmth of Jack's sweet mouth. His erection was straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, and Jack finally tugged them down. It was liberating, and Bruce suddenly felt an urgency that was as powerful as it was unfamiliar.

Jack applied the lotion for Bruce, lay back, and guided Bruce into proper position.

"Go ahead, Bruce, do it. I want you to," he encouraged.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you…"said Bruce, hesitating.

"It'll be ok. Go on, just…get inside me. Please…" Jack's voice was a controlled whisper; he didn't want to overwhelm his shy lover, but he knew at some point Bruce was going to have to let himself go. Bruce gave a tentative thrust; then another, and to his amazement, he suddenly found himself entering Jack's eager body, slipping in easily; Jack thrust himself against Bruce's hips, forcing him deeper, and soon they found each other's rhythm.

At first, Jack was almost as nervous as Bruce, anticipating sharp pain, but it never came. Instead, feeling his lover's member slipping deeper and deeper within him, he relaxed and began to experience the joy of Bruce's taut, muscular body. He watched Bruce's expressions change as he found the same pleasure in Jack's body, and suddenly both young men began to enjoy themselves without guilt or worry or fear.

"Harder, Bruce, please…" urged Jack. Bruce complied, and the powerful electric jolt of pleasure Jack felt told him Bruce had hit his prostate just right. He clung to him, eager to build the pressure to its delicious conclusion…when they both finished, they rolled over in each other's arms, exhausted and content.

When they finally decided to settle in for the night, they crawled under the covers together. Jack drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that, for the first time in a very long time, he was where he really belonged. At least for the night.

***


	9. Accusation

Saturday was coming. Saturday night had long been "date night" for Bruce and Rachel; now, he was feeling apprehensive about seeing her at school, much less spending an evening with her. The night he had spent with Jack—the night they had become serious lovers, the night Bruce had to confront powerful contradictions deep within his soul—that night had changed his life, and he didn't know what to do anymore.

He loved Rachel. He knew her so well, and he was so comfortable with her. But Jack was…exciting. Everything about him, from his rough past to his wicked grin made Bruce want to spend more time with him, to discover more about him, to captivate him the way he had captivated Bruce…and then there was the sex. Bruce sighed. He couldn't stop thinking about _that…_.

But, Rachel. A man with the running of a multi-million dollar corporation in his future needed a wife, and a certain _kind _of wife…beautiful, well-bred, intelligent…Rachel was all those things, and more. He couldn't just let her go…could he?

***

It was a Wednesday afternoon; as usual, Alfred was off and away for the night. Bruce and Jack were in the garage, working on the car.

Jack shook his head in disgust.

"There's no point in fooling with this anymore until that part comes in. We might as well give up for the day," he announced as he wiped his hands on a shop towel.

"Ok with me! I'm no grease monkey…" Bruce agreed.

Jack gave him a naughty look. "That's not what I've heard," he snickered. .They both laughed and went inside to wash up.

"Let's order pizza and play some games," Bruce suggested, after they'd scrubbed the motor oil gunk off of their hands.

"Sounds good to me," said Jack, and they headed for the media room. Bruce set up the game system, poked around in the occasional table for the second controller, and they began competitively playing a fighting game.

But, as usually happened when they were alone in Wayne Manor, they were soon overcome by their desire for one another, and after a few game lives had been sacrificed, Bruce had Jack on his back on the couch, his jeans and underwear discarded in a heap on the floor, moaning and pleading with Bruce to fuck him harder, deeper, and Bruce doing his damndest to comply. Jack bit Bruce's shoulder as he came; the heady combination of pain and extreme pleasure brought Bruce to a powerful orgasm as well. He was lying stunned and immobile on top of Jack when they heard Alfred's car pull into the garage.

"Dammit, what's he doing home? Come on, get your pants on, hurry up…" groused Bruce as he quickly but carefully stuffed his member back into his trousers and hastily zipped up. Jack fluidly slid into his jeans, not bothering with his underwear, and, noticing it lying in plain sight, quickly pushed it under the couch with his foot seconds before Alfred walked in.

"Well, hello young gentlemen, how are we this evening?" Alfred asked cheerfully.

"Alfred, I thought you had…plans for the evening," Bruce said, not hiding his irritation.

"I did, indeed, Master Wayne, unfortunately things didn't work out. I'll just be spending a quiet evening on my own, don't let me interrupt your fun." _Too late for that, _thought Bruce.

"Uh…we're going to have pizza, Alfred. You want to join us?" Jack asked shyly. He genuinely liked Alfred, and he thought it was rude of Bruce to act so put out with him. Bruce shot him an annoyed look.

"That's a most kind invitation, but I have already had my dinner. No, I'll just be enjoying a hot bath and a good book, but thank you just the same. Evenin', gentlemen."

With that Alfred headed up to his room.

"Whew, that was close." Bruce was still aggravated by the interruption. He had wanted to spend more time in Jack's warm arms…well, there was no reason they couldn't still spend the night together. He'd just make sure they got up early enough to beat Alfred to the punch.

They dined on pizza and watched TV for a while, then….

"Come on, Jack, let's go upstairs…."

They went to Bruce's bedroom, got in bed together and started making out again. Bruce slid his hand down into Jack's jeans and discovered the lack of underwear.

"Jack, what did you do with your shorts?" he asked worriedly.

"Uh…left 'em under the couch," Jack sheepishly admitted.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, go get them. If Alfred finds them—and he will, God knows, nobody cleans as thoroughly as Alfred—he's going to ask questions, and I can't think of a reasonable explanation," Bruce ordered.

"Ok, fine. Hey, do you think there's any of that soda left? I could bring up a couple of glasses while I'm down there…"

"Yeah, do that." Bruce flipped on the television while he waited.

Jack headed downstairs, went back to the media room, and reached under the couch. He couldn't immediately find his undershorts, and had to get down on all fours to look for them. Once he retrieved them, he sat on the floor and carefully folded and stuffed them in his pocket. While he was down there, he noticed the drawer of the occasional table was still open, and he helpfully slid it shut. Then he stood and further shoved the offending underwear deeper into his pocket, in case Alfred happened to show up.

Jack headed for the kitchen and began opening cabinets looking for glasses to pour the soda into, when Alfred did, indeed, show up.

"Finding everything you need—_Jack_?" asked Alfred in an odd voice.

Startled, Jack quickly turned and immediately felt guilty. He stammered, "Y-yeah, sure. Uh…Bruce wanted some soda."

"Is that right? Did you think we kept it in the media room—_Jack_?"

"Huh?"

"I happened to notice you investigating the room, and you obviously found something of interest in one of the drawers. Just wondering what it might be." Alfred was half smiling, but not in a kind way. He stared hard at Jack.

"N-no, I didn't find anything in there…"

"Oh? Then, what did you put in your pants pocket, may I ask, sir?"

"I…I didn't put anything in my pocket…" Jack wasn't a great liar, but he didn't know how else to answer without putting Bruce in an awkward situation.

"I beg to differ, sir, I saw you. Why don't you just show me what it was, and we'll have this cleared up in a jiffy, eh?"

"I didn't do anything wrong, Alfred! I just came down to get something to drink…"

"Mister Ramsey, if you think I'm going to allow you to take advantage of Master Bruce's kindness to you by stealing from him, you are very much mistaken. Now, show me what you have in your pocket, and perhaps we can let this go…"

Jack was stunned by the accusation. After all the times he'd stolen and gotten away with it in the past, to be accused when he was trying so hard to reform his life was heartbreaking.

"I wouldn't steal from Bruce! And, I don't _have _anything that's any of _your _business! Just leave me alone, you nosy bastard!" Jack's temper was rising, replacing his hurt and embarrassment.

Alfred strode over to Jack and slapped him.

"That's enough of your insolence, you little delinquent. I had my misgivings about you right from the start, and I can see I wasn't wrong. Now, let's be heading upstairs and discuss this with Master Wayne." He grabbed Jack by the arm and forcibly led him up to Bruce's bedroom.

Bruce could hear Jack's angry protests and Alfred's firm voice answering him, and he hastily straightened his clothes, wondering what in the hell was going on.

Alfred shoved open the door and forced Jack in ahead of him.

"Just let me go, you fucking asshole! Don't worry, I'm leaving! Jesus, Bruce, you didn't tell me you hired a fucking _Nazi…_."

"Jack, calm down! What in the world is going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked, bewildered.

Alfred was still maintaining a painful hold on Jack's arm, and Bruce could see the look of murderous fury in Jack's eyes, so he carefully interceded and pulled the two apart. He guided Jack off to the side and looked Alfred in the eye.

"Come on, Alfred, what's the deal?"

"I'll leave it to your_ guest_ to explain himself, " said Alfred quietly.

Bruce turned to his very upset friend, who was breathing hard and staring angrily at Alfred.

"Jack?"

"Your _butler_, there, thinks I was stealing from you….Bruce, just take me home, ok? I want to go home, now." Jack was trying to get control of himself.

"Stealing? What…what do you mean, stealing?" He looked back at Alfred.

"I caught your little friend going through drawers in the media room and placing something in his pocket. When I politely asked him to show me what it was, he refused and became very unruly. I do believe it would be best for everyone if you sent him home, Master Wayne."

"Alfred…could you give us a moment, please?" Bruce gave Alfred a pleading look.

Alfred hesitated, then nodded. "Of course, sir." He turned and left the room.

Jack was still breathing hard and staring at the wall. Bruce put his arms around him and hugged him. He could feel Jack trembling with emotion.

"It's ok, Jack, tell me what happened," said Bruce gently.

"I don't know…I found my underwear and headed to the kitchen, and he…accused me of stealing something. I couldn't tell him what I was doing in the media room because…I didn't want to get you into trouble, Bruce." Jack pulled away and Bruce could see tears of hurt and anger glistening in his eyes.

"You left the drawer open, and I guess he saw me putting my hand in my pocket after I closed it…but I didn't take anything! I swear…look…" He threw his underwear on the bed, and then pulled out the rest of the contents of his pockets—a small folding knife, some coins and a crumpled tissue.

"Jack, I believe you, you know that. Alfred…he's just protecting me. I am so sorry, I'll go talk to him."

"What good'll that do? You can't tell him the truth, and he won't believe I didn't do something wrong if you don't…I can't come over here anymore, that's all there is to it," he said sorrowfully.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll get this sorted out. Stay here, I'll be right back." He kissed Jack and hugged him again, then headed out to find Alfred.

***

"Master Wayne, I know what I saw. Please don't let your sympathy blind you to what that young man really is. You've always been too kind for your own good, sir."

"Alfred, you don't understand."

"I do, sir. I know you want to think the best of everyone, but sometimes your benevolence is simply misplaced."

"No, Alfred. You really _don't_ understand—Jack didn't steal anything, and he didn't do anything wrong. He was…protecting _me_." Bruce felt his throat tighten up—he knew what he had to do, and it was going to be painful, for both of them. But he had to. It was time.

"How can you say that, sir, do you actually believe that little hooligan over me?" Alfred was incredulous. Then a horrible thought crossed his mind….

"Master Bruce, you're not…you're not _doing drugs_, are you, sir?"

"NO!! Alfred, Jack…Jack and I are…we're _seeing_ each other," he finished, lamely.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Alfred…Jack came down to retrieve…his underwear. We were…making out on the couch in the media room and you came home unexpectedly."

"Making…out?"

Bruce took a deep breath.

"Having sex."

The words didn't come easily, but he felt an instant sense of relief once they were said.

Alfred's eyes widened in a combination of shock and utter bewilderment. Neither said a word for a long moment. Then Bruce spoke.

"I know this is…disappointing for you, Alfred. I'm sorry to throw it at you like this, but I can't let Jack get blamed for something he didn't do. Now, I'm going to go back to my room. We can talk later, if you want to." He patted Alfred on the arm and turned to go.

Alfred numbly watched his charge disappear up the stairs. This was something he was _not_ prepared for. Not at all.


	10. A Stupid Dance

**A/N: I am SOOOO sorry to take so long to update this story; I really love it, and want to do it right. Hope you enjoy this chapter, please leave a review, I love to get your comments! Hope everyone had a good holiday, and that we'll all have a wonderful New Year--and that Heath gets the Oscar!!**

**Reeniecat**

*** * ***

Jack was drunk. It was a Saturday night school dance, and he and Harvey and Jim Gordon were doing shots out back. The harsh alcohol burned Jack's throat as it coursed downward into his belly, but he liked that. Helped get his mind off of what he was having to put up with tonight.

It was the goddamn Sadie Hawkins dance--a big fundraiser for North Gotham High. What an idiotic way to bring in money--didn't those go out in the 1930's?...Christ, of all the lame-ass schools he'd been to, North Gotham took the freakin' prize. Why couldn't they just have more bake sales? Jack _liked_ bake sales.

Rachel had, of course, asked Bruce to go with her weeks ago. Bruce had told Jack he would be going with her. Jack didn't care, not really. He knew Bruce had to keep up appearances with her, and he also knew that Bruce had no intention of trying to get her to sleep with him anymore. Bruce was too gosh-darned honorable for that, a damn boy scout he was, just about...

Jack didn't intend to go. Cassie Meyers had asked him; it was awkward with her. For one thing, he'd fucked her a couple of times just for fun, before he and Bruce really got together. So, she had an idea that there was something between them...secondly, he _wanted to fuck her again_. He sighed. It wasn't because he particularly liked or cared about her or whatever, he just really did like getting a little pussy every once in a while...jeeze, he'd been screwing girls since he was thirteen, it was kind of a hard habit to give up, so to speak, ha ha....

And, if he took her to the damn dance, he didn't think he'd have much self-control in that department, especially if he had to watch Rachel hanging on Bruce's arm all night long, giving him those moon eyes....it would be better for everyone if he and Bruce just holed up together at Wayne Manor, ordered a pizza, and screwed their brains out all night long, as usual, but nooo. As Bruce said, the fucking dance was _important.... _

He'd ended up agreeing to go because Rachel--damn _Rachel_--had given him ninety-nine kinds of hell for not showing any school spirit, for not caring about the school's financial viability--_that money will go for new computers, Jack!!_--and, God knows what other deadly sins he was committing by not dressing up like a monkey and hauling his ass to the stupid school gym for a million boring hours on a Saturday night, to hang out with someone he didn't give a shit about, but who was probably going to cause him to cheat on the one person he DID give a shit about, who was probably driving crazy the person who was making him, Jack, go to the dance, by _not_ cheating on him....Or something like that.

So, here he was, getting loaded out of his mind, trying to stay away from Bruce, stay away from Rachel, and stay away from goddamn Cassie Meyers, with her short little spaghetti strap dress that would slide up over her hips so nicely....he took the bottle as it came around again and took a deep, long swig, before handing it off to Jim.

"Damn, Jack-o, you can really put it away! Who're you drinking off your mind tonight?" asked Jim admiringly.

"Aw, fuck, no one, Jim. I jus' don't wanna have to show what a bad dancer I am to the entire school...." Jack was slurring his words slightly. His eyes were heavy lidded and he thought he could probably curl up behind the giant school air conditioner units and pass out, thus saving everybody a lot of trouble....

"Jack's got a hot date he's getting ready for, Jim. He's not going to be able to get it up if he's sober, unless he can talk her into putting a bag over her head...." Harvey snickered, highly amused at his own wit. Harvey was quite well lit himself at this point. Cindy Adams was out of town, and he was at loose ends.

"Aw, Cassie's not that bad, Harvey...she's got great tits, who looks at her face?" asked Jim, chortling.

"Hey, you fuckers, Cassie's all right, don't talk about her like that..." Jack ordered. Cassie was actually quite pretty, but her hair was cut severely short and dyed an unnatural black. Plus, she wore garish makeup that seemed to be chosen for it's shock appeal rather than its ability to enhance her features.

Harvey and Jim both broke into drunken laughter, and started in on some of the other girls they found to be less than attractive. Jack hated that kind of idiocy, and he waved his hand dismissively at the other two boys.

"So long, assholes, I'm going back inside...need to find some food...." He began weaving his way back to the gym.

Inside, the dance was in full swing. There were lots of people bobbing up and down out on the floor, but Jack instantly spotted Bruce and Rachel slow dancing together. Bruce was holding Rachel close, swaying easily in a tight circle, his eyes closed. Rachel looked unreasonably happy....

Jack curved his lips in disgust and sighed. Cassie was instantly at his side..."Hey, babe, where'd you go off to?" She could smell the liquor on Jack's breath.

"I was...outside. For some reason...." Jack answered, rubbing his forehead and wobbling a bit.

"Well, let's go back out there, together, huh?" asked Cassie brightly. She'd had a couple of drinks, herself. She squeezed Jack's arm and he smiled down at her. He wondered what she'd look like without the damn makeup...

"All right, honey. Le's go," Jack agreed. He took another look at Bruce, who was now gazing down at Rachel and smiling at her with that sexy, boy scout smile of his. Jack felt a cold flash of jealousy. All he wanted was to be in Bruce's arms tonight, to be in his warm bed, lying under him, feeling Bruce's dick throbbing, hot and swollen, as it slid deep inside him, and here he was, trotting off to the bleachers with this _girl_....

Clearly, there was no justice in the world.

* * *

Rachel stared up at tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed Bruce Wayne. God, he really was stunningly handsome, she thought. She was so used to him, so comfortable with him, that it was easy to forget what a gorgeous guy he really was. His arms felt so good around her, so strong and commanding. And he smelled so nice.

She was really going to have a hard time sticking to her morals this semester. No sex before marriage, and there was no way they could get married before they graduated high school...but, how long would Bruce be willing to wait? The man obviously had needs...it was a good thing he had football and debate club to keep him busy. Oh, and working on cars with Jack...that seemed to keep him occupied quite a bit these days. She'd never have taken Bruce for a mechanic, but oh well, whatever. She just hoped he wouldn't get impatient with her. He was such a good, loyal boyfriend...when they finally did get together, she wanted it to be special, to be perfect. For _both_ of them.

* * *

Bruce held Rachel closely, finding it easier to keep an eye out for Jack with her pressed against his chest. He'd seen him come in with Cassie on his arm, but he'd lost sight of him almost immediately. Cassie had been quickly absorbed into a group of her girlfriends, but Jack had disappeared.

Bruce felt distinctly uncomfortable about the situation. Jack was probably jealous, more than he would ever let on. He probably didn't want to hang around watching him and Rachel together. They often went out, but it was usually with another couple or in a group, and Jack never minded that. But a dance...there was something inherently romantic about that, and he could already see that Jack wasn't happy about being there.

He just hoped Jack wasn't out in the parking lot with the stoner kids smoking pot. He hadn't been doing that, as far as Bruce knew, since he came to North Gotham, but Jack's impulse control tended to be a little shaky, especially under pressure. Plus, sometimes he just didn't seem to have good sense. Jim Gordon's dad, the cop, was one of the chaperones, and he already had Jack on his radar screen. Bruce sure hoped Jack didn't do something stupid tonight....

* * *

Jack and Cassie wandered out to the parking lot to Jack's car. They stood leaning against it, looking up at the stars. Jack wanted a cigarette. Smoking was yet another thing he had given up when he decided to get his life on the right track, and he hardly ever thought about it anymore, mostly, but tonight, he damn well wanted a cigarette.

He asked Cassie for one, and she fumbled in her tiny shoulder bag and pulled out a pack and a lighter. She took out a cigarette and held it up invitingly, so that Jack could slip it into his mouth without using his hands. She flicked a flame out of the lighter and Jack leaned forward to light up.

He inhaled deeply, appreciating the sharp scratch of the smoke as he dragged it into his lungs. Ahhh, fuck yeah, _why'd _he quit doing this again? The mild buzz of the tobacco soon mixed pleasurably with the fog of the alcohol and Jack started feeling pretty damn good. He flicked the ash to the side and when Cassie stood in front of him and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him, he slipped his free hand around her waist. Mmm, cherry lip gloss, nice...

They lightly made out, standing under the night sky, with Cassie's tongue exploring his mouth, when he suddenly felt a rush of loneliness for Bruce. Damn it. He missed him so much tonight. Just knowing he was inside the gym with Rachel in his arms felt like a knife stabbing him in his stomach, although that might have been the booze and cigarette combined with no food....suddenly, Jack pushed Cassie away from him.

"Listen, babe, I'm sorry, I just can't do this...." he said firmly.

"What's the matter, Jack? What did I do?" she asked worriedly.

"Nothing, it's not you, it's...look, I'm seeing someone right now."

_"Who?"_

"It's kind of a long-distance thing, we don't see each other a lot, but...I'm really sorry, I just need to...look, let's go back inside and find some food, huh? I'm starving...."

"Fine, Jack, listen, screw you, ok? Just forget it, I don't need this!"

"Aw, Cassie, come on, don't be mad..."

"No, Jack, you're a real asshole, you know that? Fuck off."

With that, Cassie turned on her heel and headed back inside.

Jack stood there, his lips twisted, frowning in thought. He took a deep, blessed drag on his cigarette, watching the smoke swirl around his head before wafting toward the clouds, when suddenly a hand came out of nowhere and pulled the cigarette out from between his lips. He turned, startled, to see Bruce standing there, a wry smile on his face.

"Smoking's not good for you, Jack."

"Bruce! How long have you...."

"Long enough. You had me worried there for a minute, but...you did good, Jack," he said softly.

"Bruce..." Jack's voice failed him.

"Come here," Bruce ordered, taking Jack's arm.

He led him to a nearby cluster of the school's utility buildings, into a secluded area between the structures and, after checking carefully to be sure they wouldn't be seen, pulled Jack into his arms and kissed him tenderly.

"Dammit, Bruce..." Jack said brokenly. "I was missing you so much...."

"I know, I know, me too. I was worried about you, so I came to see how you were doing...."

"Yeah, not so great. I hate this, Bruce."

"Me, too."

"I wish we could just be together."

"Me, too."

They felt too exposed, too vulnerable to kiss again, but they smiled wistfully at each other.

"Well, I guess you don't have to give Cassie a ride home, now, huh?"

"Guess not. I'm too loaded to drive, anyway."

"Why don't you go inside and get some food, and sit with me and Rachel at our table? By the time you sober up enough to drive, it'll be time to go. I'll take Rach home, and then I'll meet you at my place...we'll go to bed, and before I'm done with you, you'll forget Cassie Myers ever existed," Bruce spoke teasingly, but he put his hand under Jack's chin and looked deep into his eyes, letting him know that he wanted him very badly. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds really good, Bruce. I just...."

"What, babe?"

"I'm _sorry_...I shouldn't have...I'm really drunk, Bruce."

"I know, Jack. It's ok. I'm really proud of you. Come on, let's go in."

"Ok. I love you, Bruce."

"You're really drunk, Jack. But, I love you, too."

The two walked slowly back to the gym, and although they both ached to just settle in together somewhere quiet and private, they were careful not to touch one another or to betray their intimacy in any way.

The rest of the evening was a fuzzy blur to Jack, but it passed smoothly enough. He ate, and started drinking water, which helped to flush the effects of the hard liquor out of his system, and eventually his head cleared and the resentfulness and anger he had been nurturing earlier in the evening abated. He didn't even hate Rachel anymore.

Later, Bruce met Jack at his house as promised, and after they had gone upstairs to Bruce's bedroom, slipped out of their clothes and into Bruce's bed, they gratefully wrapped themselves in each other's arms. Bruce inhaled deeply of the unfamiliar scents clinging to Jack on this strange night, stale cigarette smoke, the raunchy aftermath of too much liquor, and the faint lingering of someone else...a girl's perfume....Those, mixed with Jack's usual spicy scent and a light dousing of fresh sweat, were wildly intoxicating to Bruce, and he felt a surge of such desire that his vision became cloudy.

Bruce lovingly slid his warm, moist lips over Jack's eager mouth, dipping his tongue inside, no longer the shy, tentative explorer he had been when they started their affair. He now knew his lover's mouth by heart, his most sensitive places, between his gum and bottom lip, inside his cheeks, and deeper, and he demandingly used his tongue to claim them again, sending chills of excitement through Jack's entire body, causing him to melt against the latent strength of Bruce's muscular chest.

Bruce hugged Jack to him so tightly that he thought he might squeeze the breath out of him, but Jack just snuggled in closer to him, as though afraid he might disappear....Bruce's hand trailed over his lover's back, tracing a path that followed the sharp indentions of his bony spine, moving lower, until he reached the only place on Jack's skinny body that curved softly. He smiled against the deep kiss they were enjoying, and affectionately squeezed first one warm, silky cheek, then the other. Bruce stopped a minute to reach for lubricant, then gently probed even lower, and, finding Jack's entrance, slid two long, slender fingers inside him.

"Jeeze, Bruce, what're you doing?" Jack broke the kiss to stare at his lover's face in surprise. As experienced as Jack was in rowdy sexual exploits, he had little familiarity with gentle, caring lovemaking techniques.

"I've been reading up on this...does that feel good?"

"God, yeah...so good...but, 'reading up?' What the hell..." Jack shut up after Bruce began to gently but commandingly prepare him for what they both had been looking forward to all evening. As he used his fingers to open up Jack's tight entrance, Bruce felt his lover begin to relax against him, and soon he judged by the noises coming from low inside Jack's throat and the way he was thrusting himself back against Bruce's hand that he was close to being ready.

"Turn over, babe," Bruce ordered, his voice a low rumble.

Jack eagerly complied, positioning himself on his hands and knees, parting his legs wide enough to give Bruce easy access; Bruce raised himself upright onto his knees, steadying himself with his hands on Jack's hips, and, after liberally applying lubricant to his member, he gave a deep, powerful thrust.

Jack moaned, the pleasure so strong that his legs already felt weak, but he jerked back to meet the delicious intrusion, encouraging his lover to pick up the pace. "God, Bruce, that feels so good...." he gasped.

"Sexy boy," Bruce responded softly, his capacity for rational thought laid to rest for the night. "It's going to feel even better...."

Bruce closed his eyes and slid deeply into the heat of Jack's body. This moment was all he ever wanted, feeling his sweet lover under him, tightening and flexing around his member as he drove himself at a steady pace in and out of Jack's tight channel. He was constantly rewarded by Jack's fervent responses, and Bruce now knew to seek the proper angle to stimulate his prostate, as well as to reach around to grasp Jack's rock-hard erection with his still lube-slicked hand and help him to reach a climax by firmly stroking him, while still thrusting into him with that hard, powerful rhythm.

It wasn't long before Jack's warm semen filled his hand, and Bruce heard his guttural cry of release. Pleased, Bruce now focused on satisfying himself, grasping his lover around his waist and pulling him into a slightly different angle, then sliding his hands onto his skinny hips, holding him firmly in position, fucking him deeper and harder than he had ever thought possible. He soon came, ejaculating deep in Jack's delicious heat, allowing his member to stay sheathed inside, still throbbing pleasurably for a long moment before finally pulling out.

It was only afterwards, as Jack lay cradled in Bruce's arms, senses barely recovered and just before drifting into an innocent, dreamless slumber that it occurred to him that they had told each other "I love you" that evening. God, he'd been so loaded, did it really happen? He was fairly certain he had drunkenly spouted the words, but had Bruce really said them back?

"Bruce...?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Did I...did I say something really, uh, stupid, earlier this evening?"

"You said an amazing amount of stupid things this evening, Jack, what in particular were you thinking of?"

He moved far enough away from Bruce to be able to look him in the eye.

"I think I told you 'I love you'," he admitted, sheepishly.

"You did."

"Well...did you say it back? Everything's kind of fuzzy after the second round of booze..."

"I believe I did, yes."

"Didya mean it?"

"Oh, yeah. I meant it. God help me, I meant it."

Jack smiled.

"You poor bastard."

He settled back into Bruce's arms and was out like a light.


	11. Aunt Miri

_**A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. A giant THANK YOU to Jokerluv for the kick in the pants to get this story moving again! Thank you to everyone for reading!! And to the dear folks reviewing anonymously, know that I thank you even though I can't contact you personally. Thank you to everyone that left reviews!**_

_*** * ***_

_Several months have passed...._

Bruce hung up the phone. It being a chilly but sunny Saturday in spring, he had called Rachel to invite her to spend the day with him. He had intended to take her somewhere fun, to try to make up for the very small amount of time he had been spending with her lately, but she already had plans with her family that afternoon.

They had spent almost two hours on the phone, chatting amiably, discussing movies and music as they always did. They had so much in common and Rachel only needed to be given a topic of mutual interest in order to keep her talking for a good long time. It was one of the things Bruce liked best about her--he only had to make occasional comments or ask a question now and then, and she did the rest. Bruce wasn't great at carrying on idle conversations.

Once again, the feelings of guilt that were never very far from his heart welled up inside him as he hung up the phone. He went through his usual list of options, whether to try to break off their stilted romance for good, or to allow things to limp along as they had been. He rather liked Jack's technique of inventing some long-distance lover that he could blame for his withdrawal from the romantic portion of their relationship, but he knew it would be no good with Rachel. She'd quiz him endlessly about "her", wanting to know her name, what she looked like, how old she was, and finally, she'd demand to meet the girl in order to assess whether or not she was an acceptable mate for Bruce ....

Bruce sighed. He felt terrible. Romance or not, he loved Rachel, always would, and the thought of hurting her hurt _him_ deep within his soul. He wished _she_ would break it off, find someone else, but Rachel was as loyal as they come. In so many ways, Rachel was perfect for him. There was only one glaring flaw that he could think of.

She wasn't Jack.

Bruce smiled wistfully, thinking of his blond-haired lover. He missed him terribly, but Jack worked on Saturdays until four in the afternoon. He knew he could call him and arrange for a "date", he could pick him up after his shift was over and take him to a movie, or they could play pool, or even go bowling...he knew the moment he caught sight of Jack's laughing eyes and that killer smile, he would feel nothing but happiness, that Rachel would be off his mind and whatever troubles plagued him would vanish into thin air.

But seeing Jack was hours away, and until then, he still had to occupy himself somehow.

Just then, Alfred tapped on his bedroom door. Now that he knew about Bruce and Jack's relationship, Alfred took great pains to observe Master Wayne's privacy. He didn't relish the thought of walking in on the two boys again. Finding them naked, entwined in each other's arms, his charge's hips thrusting feverishly into the slighter boy's body, was an image he didn't wish to have repeated. Not to mention the accompanying sounds....

Bruce opened the door.

"Hi, Alfred, what's up?"

"There's a phone call for you on the house line, sir. It's your Aunt Miri."

"Oh, ok, I'll take it in here. Is she all right?"

"I believe so, sir. I suspect she just wants to chat."

"Ah. Ok, well, thanks."

"Certainly, sir."

Miriam Wayne Armstrong was a strong woman. She was Bruce's father's aunt, of indeterminate age, but probably in her late sixties, and she had been a force in his life, albeit mostly from a distance, for as long as he could remember. She was a no-nonsense, practical, hard-headed woman with a sharp mind for business; these qualities had been largely responsible for her success in stepping in as CEO at Wayne Enterprises, following Thomas Wayne's brutal murder.

She had been instrumental in wresting power away from greedy board members, and keeping Wayne Enterprises on the civic-minded track that her nephew had set in place when he took over the business from his own father.

Miriam loved Bruce to pieces. She had even considered becoming his guardian when his parents died, but at the time everything was too overwhelming and the boy seemed to thrive under Alfred's loving care and the stability of Wayne Manor. She had settled for being a beloved great-aunt, keeping up with her nephew's life through frequent phone calls, visits, and regular updates from Alfred.

Bruce punched the line, and said "Hello, Aunt Miri? How are you?"

"Oh, Bruce, it's so good to hear your voice, dear. How long has it been, weeks, right?"

"I think so."

"Yes, yes, bad weather's been cramping my style a bit. I thought I might swoop in and take you out to dinner tonight, and then I'd stay over and we could spend all day tomorrow together."

"Uh..." Bruce _really _needed to see Jack. But Aunt Miri wasn't one to be put off, he knew that.

"Well, sure. How about a late dinner, say around eight o'clock?" That way, maybe he and Jack could have a few hours together, at least.

"Wonderful, dear, although, you know, the older I get, the more interested I am in the early bird specials I used to be so scornful of. But, eight o'clock is just fine. I'll come by and pick you up. Be thinking of someplace yummy to go."

"Ok, Auntie M, I'll see you then." Bruce hung up. A whole Sunday with Aunt Miri. That meant visiting museums. He sighed, and immediately dialed the number of Erroll's mechanic shop and asked to speak to Jack.

"Hello?" Jack's warm voice instantly made Bruce feel better.

"Hey, you. What's your afternoon looking like?"

"Oh, it's pretty jam-packed. I'll be spending about fifteen minutes scrubbing motor oil off my hands, then I've got some English homework to finish up, and _then_ I have an entire afternoon of avoiding my Neanderthal roommates and foster parents ahead of me."

"Umm, doesn't sound like you could carve out some time for little old me, does it?"

"Well, let me see if I can move some things around...yes, I think I can work you in. What'd you have in mind?"

Bruce grinned, then explained his aunt's upcoming visit and proposed picking Jack up after he finished his homework for an afternoon of goofing off.

"Cool, man. I'll be ready by five."

"Ok, babe, see you then."

Bruce killed some time having his car detailed and then he did a little shopping. He wanted to get something for Jack as a surprise. He was hard to shop for because he really didn't like very many things, but Bruce picked up some CDs and, impulsively, a journal. Jack sometimes seemed so angry. Maybe he could start writing down some of his thoughts and feelings and it would make him feel better.

At five o'clock sharp, Bruce pulled up in front of Jack's house, and the handsome young man came flying out the door almost immediately, his book bag slung low on his hip, dark blond curls wild around his face. His murderous expression let Bruce know that he was steamed about something.

He slid into the passenger seat, and said, "Come on, let's go, can't get out of here quick enough for me."

"What's wrong?" asked Bruce, worriedly. Things often seemed a bit rocky at the McKinney household.

"Those fucking retards I share a room with--I hate 'em, Bruce, I'm not kidding, one of these days...." his hands were raised before him in a clenching gesture, and he trailed off as though the words he had to say were too evil to give voice to.

"What did they do?"

"Oh, I was trying to work on my essay and they wouldn't shut up. I mean, I'm there all of, like, thirty minutes most days, and they can't fuck off and give me a little peace and quiet while I do homework? Honest, Bruce, I'm going to run away and join the circus, it'd be easier to concentrate in the freak show, swear to God."

"You can work on it at my place..."

"Yeah, I brought my stuff with me, but that pisses me off, too--I don't want to waste what little time we have together thinking about fucking Shakespeare..."

"Hey, don't worry. Why don't you spend the night with me, after all? Aunt Miriam won't mind if you come to dinner with us, and you can stay in the guest room until she settles down for the night." They had developed a fairly fool-proof system of bedroom hopping back when Alfred was still in the dark about the two of them.

"Aw, no, I'm not going to horn in on your time with her. I'll get it done, I'll have some time tomorrow...." Bruce knew Jack's foster parents expected him to spend Sundays at their church and doing chores in the afternoon, both of which he resented deeply.

"You probably won't have much time tomorrow. Look, just stay over. I really want to be with you, Jack. I feel like we never see each other." Bruce glanced over at his boyfriend, who shrugged tiredly.

"Well, me either. Fucking school. I hate everything."

"I happen to know, you don't hate me." At that, Jack broke into a broad grin.

"No, not yet....Hey, I get it. You must be horny as hell, eh, Wayne? Need me to spend a little time in the sack with ya? Huh?" Jack teased.

"You have _no_ idea," Bruce agreed, grinning back at him.

"Ok, now you're talking. I'll tell Mommy Dearest to kiss my ass."

"Good. Speaking of which...what do you want to do, now?" Bruce asked innocently.

"Hmm, why do I get the feeling 'let's go back to your place so you can screw me 'til I can't stand up' is the response you're looking for?" asked Jack, amused.

"Well, I don't want to be a killjoy, if you've got something more exciting in mind."

"Oo, I hear they're installing a new traffic light at First and 46th streets, we could go watch that..."

"Mm-hmm, and I think they're repainting the bridge over Chauncey Avenue, we'd be just in time to watch the paint dry...."

"We could swing by the nursing home and watch the old folks fall out of the shopping bus..."

Both boys were laughing by now, feeling much better than either had felt all day.

* * *

Bruce pulled into the garage at Wayne Manor and stopped the car. He eagerly pulled Jack into his arms and kissed him deeply. Jack opened his mouth to demandingly respond to the overture, holding Bruce's face between his palms, then running his fingers through the thick, black hair.

"I hate never being able to kiss you hello out in public," gasped Jack, when Bruce reluctantly pulled back.

"Yeah, me too. Although, it's probably just as well. I have a hard time stopping once I get started with you..." admitted Bruce.

Jack grinned. "What's stopping you now?"

"Gear shift knob."

Jack broke into laughter.

"Well, you're obviously not looking at this as the opportunity it is...." Jack quipped wickedly.

"Ha ha. We can do better. Let's go inside, please?" Bruce chided.

The boys headed into the house and didn't make it past the kitchen door when Bruce grabbed his lover and began kissing him again. This time Jack pushed _him_ away.

"Hey, hold on there, what are you trying to do to poor Alfred? Give 'im a seizure? It nearly killed him the last time he caught us."

"Alfred went into town to get provisions for Aunt Miri. She has to have special goodies when she stays over here."

"Oh, well, then...proceed." Jack grinned rakishly at Bruce, who was then suddenly overcome with lust for his handsome boy. He dropped to his knees and unzipped Jack's trousers, finding his still-soft member and pulling it out. He hesitated for only a moment before taking it into his mouth. In the early days of their affair, Bruce had been a bit squeamish about giving Jack a blow job, for a lot of reasons, and had only recently begun learning to do it properly. He still didn't feel exactly adept at it, but he assumed he did an ok job, because he got very few critiques anymore.

Jack leaned against the door jamb, again placing his hands on the sides of Bruce's face, trying not to buck too hard into the warm wet suction until Bruce got his rhythm going. Soon, he was sliding his dick down into Bruce's throat, deeper and deeper, until Bruce pulled away, coughing.

"Sorry, babe, I still don't quite have the hang of that..." Bruce rasped.

"No, I'm sorry, got a little carried away..." Jack said softly. Bruce grinned. Jack and sex gave new meaning to the term "carried away". He began licking the long, thick shaft instead, gradually working back up to take only the first few inches into his mouth, using his hand to squeeze and stroke the base as consolation for not finishing up the other way.

"I'm coming, Bruce," Jack gasped. Bruce was also trying to learn to take his lover's ejaculate in his mouth, it was still a bit of a game of 'chicken' between them, but he managed not to pull away this time, and the tart, salty jism shot into the back of his mouth. Swallowing was, however, beyond him, and he was just considering the least offensive method for disposing of the material, when Jack suddenly prodded him on the shoulder.

"Uh...you might want to stand up now, Bruce," Jack muttered awkwardly. Bruce turned around to see, not just Alfred holding a bag of groceries, but his stately Aunt Miriam, both staring at the pair, Alfred in dismay, Miriam in utter shock.

Bruce reluctantly forced himself to swallow and gracefully pivoted to his feet.

"Aunt M! So good to see you, I thought you'd be here a bit later..." He was aware of Jack hastily turning toward the wall to zip up.

"Apparently...." Miriam intoned sarcastically.

"Aunt Miriam, this is my...friend, Jack Ramsey. Jack, this is my Aunt Miriam."

"Hi..." Jack nodded sheepishly at the frowning woman.

"I realize I'm a bit early for our dinner date, Bruce, but I thought I would spend some time chatting with Alfred and perhaps catch a quick nap." Miriam was not the type of woman who was easily flustered, but she was hard pressed to maintain her composure. As usual, Alfred came to the rescue.

"Jack, do you think you could help me with the groceries, please?" he asked in smooth voice. Jack gratefully nodded, and slunk out of the room in a hurry, leaving Bruce to face his disquieted aunt.

"I'm...sorry, Aunt Miriam," Bruce said simply. He didn't try to explain that he was sorry only that she was upset, not for indulging in an intimacy with his sweetheart in his own home....

"Bruce, I...how long has this been...what about _Rachel?" _Miriam sputtered. She was neither homophobic nor unsophisticated, but the idea of her handsome, beloved nephew being...like _that..._gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Rachel and I are very close, but...I don't know what's going to happen between us right now."

"So...she doesn't know?" Miriam asked rather hopefully.

"No." said Bruce firmly. "I'm far too much of a coward to have said anything to her so far..." he added, almost to himself.

"Coward? Bruce--that's nonsense. Discretion is an excellent skill for a young man with _your _future to have. I'm actually quite proud of you..." she mused.

_"Proud?"_ Bruce asked, bewildered.

"Of course. How long has this been going on? Months?"

"Yes..."

"And no one knows but the help?"

"Uh...yes." It deeply offended Bruce to hear Alfred referred to as "the help", but he was trying to choose his battles.

"Well, that's excellent. Really, Bruce, it's very good. Very intelligent behavior, you'll find you've learned some very useful lessons because of this, and at such a young age. Yes, I _am_ proud of you." The older woman positively beamed at her nephew.

In the kitchen, Jack was trying to follow Alfred's directions on where to put the groceries, but he was also trying to hear what was being said in the next room and was getting distracted.

"No, Jack, the lemon tea cookies go in the pantry, not the refrigerator," admonished Alfred gently. He took the box out of the teen's hands and smiled encouragingly. As much as he still didn't trust the boy, he could see the pain in his eyes and wished he could offer him some sort of comfort.

Alfred sent Jack out to the garage to bring in another bag of groceries, and Jack sneered at himself for not thinking to pick Alfred's pocket for his car keys so he could get the hell out of there. Not that he actually would do it, he sighed. He wouldn't abandon Bruce. But, he'd much prefer to leave before he was kicked out. Which he would be, he had no doubt.

He trudged back to the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter.

"What do you think she's telling him, Alfred?" Jack finally asked sadly. He knew Alfred didn't like him, but he had no one else to go to.

"I expect she's asking him some questions, Jack. Master Bruce's Aunt Miriam cares for him very, very much, and I'm sure she only wants to be assured that he's happy." Alfred rather doubted the truth of that statement, but he hoped it would make the boy feel a little better.

Jack didn't believe him, either, but he appreciated the small kindness. He nodded.

"I wish I could just...you know, disappear right now."

"Now, now, it'll be all right! Master Bruce is very diplomatic, he'll smooth things over nicely, you just wait and see."

"I know you don't like me, Alfred. But you gotta believe me, I don't ever want to do anything that would hurt Bruce." The older man could see the sincerity in the boy's face and he awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jack. It's going to be fine."

* * *

Bruce and his aunt talked quietly for a little longer, then Miriam said, "So, Bruce, have you decided where you want to have dinner?"

"Uh...no, but I have to take Jack home before we go. I'll try to decide on the way back."

"Why don't you invite your...little friend to come with us?" she asked kindly.

"Really?" Bruce was slightly amazed. His aunt was a nice person, but rather old-fashioned in some ways. He suddenly felt a rush of happiness and relief. It was going to be ok. He hugged her tightly.

"Thanks, Aunt M. I'll go tell him." Bruce gave her a beautiful smile and headed for the kitchen. She smiled after her handsome young nephew. He had such an amazing future ahead of him....

Bruce entered the kitchen, making Jack's breath hitch. He fully expected to be told he was being sent home, and never to return again.

"Jack, Aunt Miriam wants you to go to dinner with us."

For a moment, Jack's spirits rose a tiny bit. But his naturally suspicious disposition quickly overrode any positive impulses he might have had. He scowled at Bruce.

"Oh, yeah? What, has she got a hit arranged already?" Jack asked bitterly.

"Come on, Jack, don't be that way. She wants to get to know you, she said so," Bruce assured him

"Oh, sure. Hey, do me a favor, will ya, give me a sign when she drops something in my drink? I hear poison's a crummy way to go."

"Jack...please, be nice."

Jack rolled his eyes and glanced at Alfred. The older man smiled encouragingly, with a slight "told you so" expression around his eyes.

"Ok, Bruce," he sighed in defeat.

_She might want to get to know me better_, he thought. _But only so she can get rid of me._

_* * *_


	12. Phone Call

**A/N: Once again, my apologies for taking so long to update. This chapter has some gratuitous smut in it, fair warning! Thank you to all who reviewed and thanks for reading!!**

**Reeniecat**

* * *

It was a Friday night, and Bruce, Alfred and Jack sat at the dining table, amiably having dinner together. Bruce was dedicated to gradually getting Alfred accustomed to having Jack around and was pleased to find he had apparently had some degree of success. This evening, at least, Alfred didn't get that stiff-upper-lip, British, _pained _look when Bruce announced that Jack would be staying for dinner. He had even become almost inured to Jack being around for breakfast on the weekends, although that seemed to tax him more than just about anything else.

"Pass the rolls, please, Alfred," Bruce requested. Alfred handed him the basket, and Bruce offered one to Jack, who smiled appreciatively and took one.

"You're a good cook, Alfred," Jack said awkwardly. He and Alfred had long ago come to some sort of truce, but he still felt a little demoralized by the older, very reserved man. Jack understood how important he was to Bruce, and he wished he could get Alfred to actually _like _him, since he obviously wasn't going to go away. But the sharp-witted butler never quite got over his mistrust of the stormy, unpredictable boy.

"Very kind of you to say so, sir..." responded Alfred, trying to sound sincere. He did his best to be civil to the young delinquent, for Master Wayne's sake, but...mealtimes had become one of the few opportunities he had to enjoy Bruce's company these days, to chat with him and find out what was going on in his increasingly busy life. With Jack there, he felt like an intruder. Still, at least Bruce stayed home more often....

Bruce had tried more than once to talk to Alfred about his relationship with Jack. He had tried telling him how happy he was to have someone in his life that he cared for so much, who made something as mundane as doing homework _fun_, who he could count on to make him laugh even when everything in his life seemed depressing and miserable. Alfred had gamely listened, but Bruce could see the whole situation was dreadfully unsettling to him, so he had always quickly dropped the topic.

Yes, Alfred had listened. He had done his best to partake of the conversation, tried to pretend as though his young charge were simply relating his day at school or discussing a favorite movie with him. But, he was from another generation, raised in an era when men in Bruce's situation kept their private lives very, _very_ private, and Alfred had simply been unable to _relax_.

Although, he supposed with a sigh, the butler _always_ knows. Long tradition, it was the burden and the responsibility of men serving in that unique situation to maintain appearances on behalf of their employers. Alfred had failed to envision himself in that particular role, however, and it didn't come naturally to him.

Alfred thought perhaps the whole situation would have been easier to bear if only the other young gentlemen had been someone--_anyone_--other than Jack Ramsey. Someone more...suitable for a youth in Bruce Wayne's social class. Someone who hadn't been a budding _criminal...._That, of course, was the problem. He could see how Bruce might find him...interesting. In need of salvation. His charge was always looking for projects....

Although, Alfred had to admit, Jack could be a likeable enough fellow, intelligent, humorous, even sweet-natured, sometimes. He supposed that, as far as Bruce's future was concerned, they were lucky he hadn't taken up with a young _woman _with a rough background similar to Jack's. A rough background and a more ruthless personality...at least, in this case, there was no chance of a pregnancy, with a resultant guilt-induced, ill-advised marriage to ruin his employer's young life.

Funny how things work out, he mused grimly as the boys bantered back and forth. He watched Master Wayne smile in that...that special _way_ he had, just for _him, _the blond boy, as he playfully threw a dinner roll at Bruce in response to a teasing insult. As they...flirted_, _he supposed the word was.

One should be grateful for small blessings. He supposed.

* * *

Bruce took Jack upstairs. They undressed and started out with a warm shower, kissing as they soaped each other thoroughly, leisurely, using the shower head to rinse each other clean, allowing the erotic power of the rushing water to excite themselves in advance of what they knew they would end up doing to each other once they got in bed.

"I need to fuck you...." Bruce murmured into Jack's ear as he toweled him dry.

"Yeah, I can tell...." Jack said, amused, taking the towel away from him and draping it over Bruce's erection.

"Stop that. And, by the way, get your ass in my bed..." Bruce growled, then grinned.

They got in bed. Bruce took Jack in his arms and began kissing him unhurriedly, stopping every so often so he could look into Jack's soft brown eyes, or admire the light smattering of freckles on his nose, or take in the curve of his delicious mouth....Bruce sometimes felt he needed to memorize every detail of Jack's features, so he could go over them when they were apart for far too long, which happened far too often...he gently nipped Jack's lower lip, and once again wondered at the deep indentation of the jagged vertical scar that was so tantalizing to him. He took his fingertip and softly traced its path, from its origin inside his mouth, down to his chin. Jack watched him carefully, always alert to his moods, always ready to respond....

"I never asked you, how did you get this scar?" Bruce asked curiously.

Jack cast his eyes toward the window as Bruce nibbled his neck and took a breath. "I fell...when I was a kid," he said simply. "I hit the edge of a glass coffee table." He turned his gaze back to Bruce, who was now paying close attention, and shrugged, raising an eyebrow dismissively. Bruce gave him a skeptical look.

"Ok...so that's the short answer," Bruce commented. "What's the whole story?"

"Oh...it's one of those pathetic poor-Jack stories. I've got a million of 'em. I can have you in tears at a moment's notice, Brucey-boy, you don't want to go down that road tonight, do ya?" Jack asked sardonically.

"Tell me," Bruce encouraged. "Please."

Jack sighed. He absently ran his fingers down Bruce's back, winning a delicious shiver from the older boy.

"Ok, fine...I was five years old. My dad...he got drunk a lot. One night, I heard him yelling at my mom and I came downstairs to see what was going on. I saw him shove her backward, and she fell down. I was so mad...I ran up to him and started hitting and kicking him, just this stupid little kid pummeling a big ol' drunk...he grabbed my arm, picked me up and slammed me down. I happened to land face-first on the coffee table. Knocked out a bunch of baby teeth, cut my lip wide open, plus my arm was dislocated...my mom and I spent the rest of the evening in the emergency room. The next day, my father acted like nothing ever happened." His voice had taken on a ragged tone and Bruce could hear the hurt of a still-bewildered little boy.

Jack shrugged again and stared up at the ceiling. Bruce pulled him closer to himself and pressed his lips against Jack's soft cheek. "Oh, babe. That's...that's horrible. I'm so sorry, so sorry...." he said tenderly. Jack was always so determined to be strong and undaunted by the world, it was rare he let Bruce see his vulnerable side. When Jack spoke again, he had regained his usual bored, slightly condescending tone.

"Aw, don't go getting all mushy on me, forget about it. Hey, I don't want to talk about this shit anymore. Come on, I thought you wanted to fuck, huh?" Jack unconsciously sucked in his lower lip and looked hopefully at Bruce. Bruce nodded. He wished he could say something to make it right, to take away the bad memories, but he knew that wasn't possible. Jack didn't want him feeling sorry for him, that much he knew as well.

Bruce moved in for a kiss....Jack's mouth tasted so good, felt so good....Bruce loved feeling the boy's skinny frame moving under him, and he felt humbled knowing that this complicated young man he had somehow been lucky enough to find genuinely wanted him, not for his money or position, but for himself.

They moved together as they kissed, erections brushing against each other, hands exploring, squeezing, stroking. Bruce bit Jack's shoulder, and he enthusiastically returned the favor, maybe a little too much so...Bruce found the lubricant and gently prepared the other boy for their lovemaking, causing him to groan from deep in his throat as he eagerly lay back, pulling his legs higher and wider apart for Bruce.

The sight of his lover laying there, open to him, waiting to be penetrated by him, filled Bruce with a stomach-churning happiness he didn't understand or even care to try. He simply got on top of Jack and gave a deep thrust into the other teen, marveling at how velvety smooth, tight and warm the inside of his boyfriend's body was. He looked down to see Jack's face, tensed in concentration, but so sweet and trusting of him. Bruce smiled as he gently slipped his length in and out of him, watching as the other gradually relaxed and began moving in rhythm with Bruce's regular, deep, hard thrusts.

No matter how often they made love, Jack could never adequately prepare himself mentally or physically for the moment when Bruce would finally enter him after a mind-bending make-out session. He always felt flustered and weak in the knees, as though he were approaching the very top of a very steep roller coaster, about to plunge hundreds of feet in two seconds....

But soon, and always, as Bruce's hard member slid further and further into his body, gentle but relentless, he would find himself losing the power of intelligent thought. He'd instinctively wrap himself around the other, and then he would eagerly thrust his hips up to meet the dark-haired boy's muscular body, alternately crying out and moaning with pleasure. Often, he wouldn't even be aware of the sounds he made or the words that slipped out, "God, Bruce, fuck me...harder, please, fuck me, fuck me..." or of the deep groan that presaged his orgasm.

Bruce loved hearing Jack say his name during sex, he loved Jack's deep rich voice, and he loved feeling his body writhing under him as he rocked into him again and again. Bruce arched his back and came deep inside his love, his boy....his cock continued to spasm with the last of his release, and Bruce lay on top of Jack, recovering, kissing him feverishly, gently brushing aside a sweat-drenched strand of blond hair matted on Jack's forehead so he could press his lips against his skin.

"So incredible...you're so incredible...I love you, Jack," Bruce murmured in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, you just like fucking me," Jack rasped dismissively, once he again had control over his speech function. Bruce opened his eyes and was glad to see an impish grin accompanied the cynical statement.

"Yes, that's true...but I do love you, you little brat. Why do you have to make me say it twice?" Bruce asked, amused.

"Can't say it enough. I love you, too..." Jack firmly snuggled up against his boyfriend, and soon they slipped off into a very sound sleep.

* * *

The following Saturday, after Jack had had breakfast with him and then headed off to work, Bruce was finally able to make good on his promise to himself to spend some quality time with Rachel. He called her, picked her up after lunch and took her to a movie. Then they went to the mall and enjoyed window shopping and people watching. Tired of walking, they eventually sat in the food court, chatting over Chinese fast food and diet sodas.

"Honestly, Bruce, this year has just flown by, hasn't it? It's going to be summer vacation before we know it. Do you have any big plans this year?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know, exactly...my Aunt Miri's been talking about having me come spend some time at her place in the country, and then having me work with her every day for a couple of months. She wants me to get to know people at the office, you know, start making connections for the future...."

"Really? Wow, she's going to start grooming you for the executive suite already? Are you up for that?"

"Well, my father started getting involved in the business when he was my age, I guess it's time. Anyway, she's a lot of fun and if I'm going to end up running the thing, I better get as much education from her as possible."

"But, is that what you really want? To be stuck in an office for the rest of your life?"

"I don't know!" So much of Bruce's future seemed to have already been written for him that he sometimes forgot that he had alternatives. "I guess this would be a good time to see if it is, right?"

"I guess so. I was kind of hoping you and I would have more time to spend together. I feel like I've hardly had a minute with you this entire year."

"Yeah, I know. We've both been so busy...."

"Yes, and your big buddy Jack certainly seems to take a lot of your time...."

"Well, we have a lot in common..." Bruce hedged awkwardly. "Look, do you want to see what Harvey and Cindy are up to tonight?" he asked, hastily changing the subject.

"Sure, call 'em and let's see if they want to hang out."

Just as Bruce pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, it rang. Bruce didn't recognize the number, and looked at Rachel in amusement.

"Maybe this is them, wanting to see what _we're_ doing..." he said, and they both laughed.

"Hello?" Bruce answered.

Bruce heard Jack's voice, sounding tense, on the other end of the line.

"Hey, buddy, what's up?" Bruce asked, mouthing "It's Jack" to Rachel, who tried not to be obvious as she rolled her eyes. She watched as Bruce's mouth dropped open in surprise and his voice was tight as he replied.

"Oh, shit," answered Bruce. "Yeah, of course, I'll be right down."

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"It's Jack. He's in jail," Bruce replied, abruptly. "I've got to go bail him out. Come on, I'll drop you off on the way."


	13. No Future?

**A/N: Just a short update! Thank you, as always, for reading, please review, pweeese?**

* * *

_When last we left Bruce, he was heading to the Gotham County Jail to bail Jack out._

"Dammit, Jack, what have you done?" Bruce thought to himself as he drove to the county jail after taking Rachel home and then stopping to pick up Alfred. Jack had explained that they wouldn't release him to anyone under the age of eighteen, and his foster parents refused to have anything further to do with him. Bruce hadn't enjoyed telling Alfred what was going on, but the man who had been like a father to him almost his entire life listened carefully, and simply said, "Let me get my coat, sir," before following Bruce to the car.

Jack hadn't had time to relate the circumstances of his arrest, but Bruce knew that this could be _bad, _very, very bad. Bruce mentally checked off the possibilities--drugs, sex, violence, theft, vandalism--offenses over which, just off the top of his head, he knew Jack had already had minor brushes with the law. He bit his lip worriedly as he pulled into the parking lot of the jail. Looking at the grim gray building gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Ready?" he asked Alfred. "Of course, sir," Alfred assured his charge. Somehow, none of this really surprised him. He was actually amazed that it hadn't happened sooner.

The two of them checked in at the front desk, and while Alfred took care of the paperwork, Bruce asked to be taken to see Jack. He was led back to an area of the jail reserved for the juvenile population. Jack was sitting sideways on a bench, one of only two boys in the cell. The other was lying on the other bench, curled into a fetal position, sound asleep.

Jack stood up and came to meet Bruce at the bars, his lips twisted into an expression of disgust. Bruce could see he had a black eye and a bloody scrape on one cheek. Even so, he couldn't help but notice that there was something rather wantonly sexy about his lover being treated like a common criminal. He fought the urge to give him a deep kiss through the bars.

"Jack, what did you do?" he asked instead.

"Oh, well, so much for the presumption of innocence," Jack answered irritably.

"Ok, so what are you _accused_ of doing?"

"I finally beat the crap out of my asshole roommate. You know, the giant retard?"

"Yeah, the one that's twice your size--ok, what happened?"

"I was feeling sick at work, so they sent me home. I was trying to sleep and dip-shit wouldn't leave me alone. I told him to back off or I would smash his ugly face in. Well, he thought that was just hilarious, so I got up and grabbed a freakin' baseball bat and took a swing at him--just trying to show him I was serious, you know? Well, some tiny part of his rudimentary brain must have perceived a threat, so he came at me and he punched me. He kept coming at me, and got a couple of more shots in. So, I finally lost it and proceeded to smash his freakin' face in, as promised. And my dear foster mother called the cops! Can you believe it?"

"And...they hauled _you_ in? That guy must have fifty pounds on you!"

"Yeah...well, he was in a sniveling heap when the cops got there and I still had the baseball bat. Aaand, to be fair, I did kind of...threaten...a couple of other people. Like Mrs. McKinney. And...Mr. McKinney. And...the cop...."

"Oh, Jack, no, you didn't threaten a cop!"

"Well, I was kind of...in the moment, you know? I didn't even know what I was saying at that point...."

"Jesus, you really are an idiot...." Bruce shook his head in dismay.

"Ok, you're right! I just..." Jack sighed and stared off to the side, avoiding Bruce's gaze.

Just then an officer came to open the cell door and put cuffs on Jack before leading him out to the front area to prepare him for release. Bruce followed, once again feeling ashamed for thinking Jack looked extremely sexy in handcuffs.

At the desk, Jack was un-cuffed and his personal effects returned to him. It was explained to him that he was being released into Alfred's custody until such time that a hearing before the judge could be arranged, which should be some time within the next two days, and that he was not to leave the city during that time, etc., etc. There was also going to be a meeting with his CPS counselor the following afternoon, and he was reminded that if he wanted legal representation at this point, it was his responsibility to procure it. He agreed that he understood and signed for his things, and the three of them headed to the car.

"We'll get you a lawyer, Jack."

"You think I need one?"

"Uh, after threatening a cop? _Yeah!_ How badly hurt is your roommate, by the way?"

"Oh, he's fine. Not so pretty, but then he never was...."

"Jack, did you do some serious damage or not?"

"I just..._hit _him...a couple of times, I don't know, he wasn't unconscious or anything...."

"Well, a lot will depend on that, but yes, I think you need a lawyer. Alfred..."

"I'll take care of it, sir," said Alfred evenly.

They were quiet for a few minutes, then Jack spoke up.

"The McKinney's won't let me stay with them anymore...."

"You'll stay with us, Jack," Bruce assured him.

"Uh...I don't think that's a very good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"Aw, come on, Bruce, half the school calls me a fag _now_, what do you think's going to happen if they find out I'm living with you? And then they'll start saying stuff about you, too...I don't want that."

"Well, you'll stay with us until the hearing, at least...."

"Yeah, ok, that should be all right," he said, still sounding worried.

They both knew perfectly well that the chances of finding another foster family in this part of town, especially now that Jack would be considered seriously "difficult", were slim. Neither of them wanted to think of Jack having to leave the area, to start a new school, and everything that went with that. Both boys brushed away those thoughts for the moment, considering them to be too painful to dwell on at the time.

When they arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred tapped Jack on the shoulder, stopping him before he could follow Bruce inside.

"Jack...it's my signature on those release papers. That means I am responsible for you. If you do anything...inappropriate while in my custody, it will be my name that is on the line. I would appreciate you keeping that in mind...sir."

Jack raised his eyes miserably to the older man's. "I know that. I...won't do anything to hurt you _or_ Bruce, Alfred, I promise," he said softly. "I'm..._sorry_...about all this."

"Understood, sir." Alfred waited for Jack to head into the house and, shaking his head slightly, followed, hoping that the young man _could _be trusted to keep his word. For all of their sakes.

* * *

Bruce led Jack upstairs to bed; it was almost 2:00 in the morning and they were both exhausted. Jack understandably insisted on taking a shower before getting in bed, and Bruce had to force himself to stay awake until his still-damp boyfriend crawled between the sheets with him. Jack scooted into Bruce's arms and allowed himself to be held comfortingly by the dark-haired teen.

"You must of been scared, huh?" asked Bruce, running his hand over Jack's back.

"Naw...I've been in worse situations," Jack answered cheerfully. "At least my cellmate was too doped up to bother me, plus he was just a little guy. You'll be happy to know I've returned to you in the same chaste condition I was in when last I saw you," he assured Bruce grandly.

"_Chaste? _Now, that's a word that doesn't spring to mind when I think of you..." Bruce commented in amusement.

"I just mean, nobody made me suck 'em off or anything," he helpfully explained.

"Oh. Ok, I get it..."Bruce didn't care to be reminded of what could happen to cute young men in such situations.

"So...you _hit_...the guy...with a baseball bat?" Bruce asked tentatively, to change the subject. He had only seen the slightest glimpses of the rage he sensed smoldering inside Jack's head. It was difficult to imagine him being capable of such an act of raw violence....

"Yeah..."

"How did it feel?" Bruce asked in a whisper.

"Uh...well...you probably don't want to hear the answer to that."

"Yes, I do..."

"All right...it felt _good, _Bruce, damn good. Seeing that fucker on his knees, scared shitless...there was a part of me...there was a part of me that didn't want to stop." He licked his lips reflectively and Bruce didn't like the look in his eyes.

"Ok, well...what _did_ make you stop?" he asked, worriedly.

"I don't know...I guess...I guess I thought about _you. _I didn't want you to be angry with me, and I knew if I crippled the bastard, you'd, you know, be mad," he explained simply.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, pulling Jack closer to him.

"Aren't you on some kind of medication for...something?" he asked.

"Supposed to be. It's some damn antidepressant. But, I've been out of it for about a month, my fucking foster mother wouldn't ever bother to get it refilled."

"Oh...well, you need to be sure to tell the attorney about that." Bruce felt oddly relieved; if it could be shown that Jack's guardian hadn't taken care of his medical needs, that should go in his favor. Also, Bruce couldn't help but hope that this was the true explanation for Jack's violent behavior--somehow, it was far preferable than the idea of him being constantly on the verge of lashing out at someone, barely managing to contain his urges.

"Ok, Bruce," Jack agreed sleepily. "Hey, do you want to...? You know...fuck, or something?"

"No, babe. We both could use some sleep. Go to sleep. We'll get everything figured out tomorrow," Bruce said kindly as he kissed the other's forehead.

Bruce held him until he felt Jack's breathing slow to a soft, regular pace, then he gently eased him out of his embrace so he could turn over and pull the covers up to his chin. He was worried. Jack tried so hard, but he needed so much, and so much in his life seemed to work against him. He remembered Jack's hopeless proclamation about himself--"no future"--and how, at the time, Bruce had dismissed the idea as being totally absurd.

Now...he wasn't so sure.

* * *


	14. A New Start

_**A/N: Hello! Hope you enjoy this chapter, pleeeze review, please! Thanks to Jokerluv for prodding me again, ha ha! As always, sorry to be so poky with the updates (bows head in shame). Thanks for reading!**_

_**Reeniecat**_

_* * *_

Jack's return to school following his brief incarceration was the subject of much eager gossip and discussion among every clique in North Gotham High's student body.

The football jocks congratulated themselves on having summed up the little freak as a total loser in the first place; the stoners pondered whether or not this event would bring more of the cops' attention to be focused on _them_; and the bad-boy toughs were now eager to welcome him with open arms as one of their own, considering his now-notorious status as helping to improve their own street cred.

Jack just wished everyone would leave him alone.

The good news was that his hearing before the judge went unexpectedly well; after seeing the size of Jack's former roommate, hearing from his doctor that his injuries were entirely superficial, finding out about Jack's un-refilled prescription due to his foster-mother's negligence, and hearing a passionate plea on his behalf from Jack's CPS counselor, the judge dismissed the assault charges. He placed Jack on a six month probation for threatening a police officer.

And, on the recommendation of Jack's lawyer, he was awarded emancipation, meaning that he was no longer a ward of the state and was free to live on his own and be responsible for himself. Bruce gave a huge sigh of relief at that news, knowing that Jack wouldn't have to relocate or be forced to live in a home that made him crazy.

On the other hand, he was now going to have to take care of himself, find a place to live that he could afford on his part-time salary, cover his own expenses, etc. And he had already refused Bruce's offer to come live with him; instead, he found a semi-furnished room in an old-fashioned boarding house with cheap rent, and Bruce went with him to help gather his few possessions from the McKinney's house, mostly to be sure no further violence ensued.

He would be required to take anger management classes and show that he was keeping up with his medication as part of his probation.

"You are one lucky son-of-a-gun," Bruce ruefully congratulated Jack as they set up his new living space in the broken-down old rooming house.

"Yeah, just born under a lucky star, wasn't I?" Jack said, critically eyeing evidence of an old leak in the ceiling before moving his small television set out from under it.

"You know what I mean. You could have been locked up...."

"I know. I do feel fortunate, really. I just...I just feel like every time things start to go right for me, I do something totally stupid to screw it all up. I...I was really scared that you wouldn't want to have anything more to do with me, Bruce." He said this quietly, staring at the floor.

"Oh...hey. I..." Bruce made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I don't care if you're a damn criminal, Jack," he said in amusement. "I guess I'm just a sucker for a bad boy...."

He grinned teasingly at his lover, and Jack rolled his eyes in sarcastic agreement.

"Yeah, that's what you need, Mr. Future-CEO-Wayne. _My_ criminal record on _your_ resume...."

They laughed and Bruce gave him a quick hug.

"How about we get out of here and I take you out for a decent meal? Or did you develop a taste for jail-house cuisine?"

"Oh, I'm very much looking forward to cooking beans on a hot plate right here, but until then, sure, I'll settle for one of your fancy restaurant meals...."

Leaving their worries behind, the two teens headed out for an afternoon of fun--together.

* * *

Bruce's Aunt Miriam was on the phone with Alfred. Alfred had long been her conduit for information about Bruce's ever more mysterious life as he grew up, and now she was very interested to hear about the latest escapade of his friend, Jack.

"They put him in _jail?_" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, mum. On assault charges, which were later dropped...."

"He's quite the budding delinquent, isn't he?"

"So it would seem, mum. Master Wayne was beside himself."

"I can imagine...who would think such a thing would happen to someone so, uh, _close_ to Bruce? When I think of the friends he used to spend all his time with--Rachel, Harvey, even Jim Gordon--such nice kids, from good homes...I suppose Bruce is getting a real education from this boy...."

"I suppose, mum," Alfred said dubiously.

"Well. It's all very interesting, isn't it?"

"Yes, mum."

"You're doing a great job, Alfred. Thank you for taking such good care of my nephew all these years."

"It's been my pleasure. He's a fine boy, with a wonderful future ahead of him, thanks to you..."

"Um-hm. A very bright future...we have to be sure nothing happens to, shall we say, _compromise_ that future? Right, Alfred?"

"Of course, mum."

"Of course. Well, thanks for the update...."

"Yes, mum."

"I'll talk to you later."

They hung up, and Miriam pursed her lips in thought.

This boy, Jack...he could turn out to be a problem. A big problem, in more ways than one...

* * *

Harvey Dent sat on Rachel's couch, waiting for her friend, Cindy, to come downstairs so they could go on their date. Cindy had spent the night at Rachel's and was now, apparently, giving herself the full treatment to look just right, and Rachel was attempting to entertain Harvey.

"So, Harvey, what have you been up to lately?" Rachel asked genially.

"Not much. I can't believe our junior year is almost over...what are you doing this summer?" he asked perfunctorily as he glanced around the gracious living room in impatience.

"I don't know yet. My parents are talking about a vacation to California, but it kind of depends on Bruce...I'd like to spend some time with him, but he's thinking he'll be working for his aunt a lot."

"Yeah...good ol' Bruce...haven't seen much of him, lately."

"I know...he's so busy. What did you think about Jack getting arrested?"

"No surprise there, I'm amazed he's not on death row by now," Harvey said contemptuously.

Rachel laughed ruefully. "He's not _that_ bad. In fact, he can be really nice...he just has a lot of problems, it seems."

"Yeah, like _mental _problems...Bruce oughta watch out, that guy's gonna cause him some trouble down the road..."

"Maybe. Bruce is too nice for his own good...always sticking up for the underdog."

"You should talk," said Harvey, fondly. "You do the same thing. You and Wayne have been responsible for some of the most irritating hours of my life...."

"Oh, Harvey, are you still mad that we made you spend a couple of Saturdays fighting illiteracy?" Rachel grinned.

"Yes, and a couple more volunteering at the animal shelter..."

"We're just looking out for your future! If it weren't for me and Bruce, you'd have no community service hours whatsoever to put on your law school apps, and then where would you be?"

"I'd...well, yeah. I guess I'm pretty lucky to have friends like you...and Wayne."

"I like to think so!"

Just then, a fully-preened Cindy came down the stairs and she and Harvey said their goodbyes as they headed out for their date.

Rachel stood at the door and waved goodbye, wondering what the heck Bruce had to do on a Friday night that was so important that he couldn't be bothered to go on a double-date with her.

* * *

That night, Bruce shifted uncomfortably in Jack's rickety, old-fashioned bed with the iron headboard. Jack watched with an amused grin as his bedmate attempted to find a less lumpy part of the mattress.

"You look nervous, Brucie. Is it the lack of lumbar support, or the way the springs creak when you move?"

"It's fine. I just..."

"What?"

"I'm not so sure this whole thing won't fall down with us when we're, uh...."

"Yeah, adds a whole new dimension to the excitement, doesn't it?" Jack asked cheerfully.

"Well, I don't relish the thought of having to explain a crash-related bed injury to Alfred..."

Jack laughed. "Come on, bud, I thought you'd get a kick out of slumming! Makes you feel all dirty, doesn't it?"

"Uh..."

"Wait'll you see the bathroom!" Jack chortled, and he bent over to take Bruce's uninterested penis into his mouth in an attempt to try to get his mind off of whatever imminent danger they were in due to the ancient bed slats.

"Oh...shit. Jack...yes. God, that feels so good," Bruce murmured, feeling himself relax. So what if they crashed through the none-too solid floorboards and landed smack on Mrs. McCaffrey downstairs in 2-D? Jack's mouth was much too warm, his tongue too insistent, and his hands too demanding to allow Bruce to dwell further on his decrepit surroundings.

Maybe he'd bring Jack a nice plant next time, add a little color to the place.

Once Bruce's erection was efficiently brought to life, Jack reached for the tube of lubricant and applied a generous coating to his partner's member.

"So, old buddy, you ready to take this broken-down old mattress for a test drive?" Jack asked, impishly winking at him.

"Uh...I suppose so," Bruce answered doubtfully.

Jack threw one leg over Bruce's hips and, with Bruce's help, lowered himself onto the waiting cock, slowly taking it deeper and deeper inside himself. Bruce ran his hands over Jack's chest and down to his thighs, gripping them firmly as the blond boy found a comfortable angle and began to rhythmically rock back and forth.

"Um..._damn. _Tomorrow...I'm finding me...a boyfriend...with a smaller cock..." Jack gasped as Bruce's thick member stretched him open and snaked further and further into his body. Bruce smirked.

"Never heard any complaints before..." he offered.

"Never tried riding you before..." Jack retorted.

Jack just grunted as Bruce lovingly took the blond teen's cock into his hand and began stroking him firmly in time to the rhythm Jack had established. It didn't take long for Jack to come; Bruce then pushed him off of himself, onto his stomach, and entered him from behind. The hard thrusting and bouncing of the mattress caused the heavy iron headboard to slam into the wall with a regular beat that would have certainly announced to any neighbor what the occupants of the room were up to, but fortunately, the bed was against an outside wall.

When Bruce finished, he pulled Jack into an embrace, and sighed thankfully that the bed had held up under their exertions.

"Whew, well, we survived this time...." Bruce murmured.

"Maybe _you_ did. _I'm_ gonna find a new boyfriend..." Jack groused into Bruce's chest.

"Why is that, again?" Bruce asked accommodatingly.

"Yer cock's too big..." he answered sleepily.

"Oh, yeah. Well, when you find one more, um, _acceptable_, give him my sympathy..."

"Ok."

"What are you going to do, hold tryouts?"

"Mmm."

"I'll miss you..."

"Not going anywhere. Just kidding."

"Oh. Well, good, then. Goodnight, Jack."

"'Night, Brucie. Love you."

"Love you, too, you jerk."

* * *

In the morning, the boys got dressed and prepared to walk down to a little diner in the next block for breakfast. As Jack had implied, the communal bathroom for that floor was a disturbing wreck, and Bruce wondered if he had caught any ebola-like disease from using the sink to wash his hands.

As they walked down the street, Bruce observed the blighted neighborhood, the boarded up houses, the trash, the overgrown front yards. He had also noticed the inhabitants of Jack's house tended to be of the drug-dealer/prostitute variety, and he was now fully worrying not only about Jack's safety and health, but about the very real possibility of him getting inadvertently--or, even advertently, if there _was_ such a word--roped into some bad business. He would be much better off coming to stay with him and Alfred, summer was coming, and he honestly didn't care what anyone thought of him, anyway....

Over breakfast, he again broached the subject.

"Jack, I don't like you living in this neighborhood. It's not safe," he opened his argument.

"Oh, hell, it's fine! I've lived in worse shit-holes than this when I was a kid. At least this has heat..."

"No, I mean...there're some suspicious characters hanging around, you know, and..."

"I'm not stupid, Bruce. I know how to stay out of trouble, hard as that might be for you to believe..."

"It _is _a little difficult," Bruce responded sardonically. "But, I'm just saying, it's silly for you to live in such a terrible area when I have tons of room and..."

"And all the money in the world, yeah, I know. Listen, all my life, everything I've ever had came from handouts. From the government, from the state, from foster parents...I don't want any more handouts. Especially not from you. I can take care of myself, don't worry about me."

"It's not a handout, it just makes sense..."

"I already told you, I'm not moving into Wayne Manor! Just forget it, Bruce, I'm _fine_."

Bruce glared irritably at his stubborn companion.

"Fine. But, you could at least find a better place..."

"Can't afford it."

"I could help you out! I could cover the difference between what you're paying here and..."

"Oh, let's see, how shall we calculate how I pay you back, hm? How much per blow job, how much per fuck? I'm not a _whore, _Bruce, at least I'm trying not to be."

"I didn't mean to imply that..."

"No, it wouldn't occur to you that I'd see it that way, would it? You're so used to people being, what, eternally _grateful _for your generosity. But, I'm not like that. Can't you understand? I finally have a chance to stand on my own two feet, with no one telling me what to do, where to go, and I'm going to make it. You just wait, I'll show ya, I'm going to do fine."

Jack went back to eating his breakfast, and Bruce turned to stare out the window. A homeless woman was listlessly pushing a shopping cart down the sidewalk. Bruce sighed.

It was so unfair. Why should he have so much when others--not just Jack--but so many, had almost nothing at all? He admired Jack's determination to become self-sufficient, but...he could help him, make things easier for him. He'd had a hard enough life, already.

Maybe someday...maybe someday, things would be different, Bruce thought. Maybe someday they could finally be together, without all the complications that they faced today. He hoped so, anyway.

Bruce smiled at his boyfriend, who briefly gave him a skeptical look but then relented and rewarded him with one of his dazzling grins.

"Don't worry, Bruce. I'm not going anywhere. Why would I take a chance on losing my favorite source of free meals and hot sex? You couldn't get rid of me if you tried." With a triumphant smirk, he popped the last bite of his breakfast into his mouth, and watched as Bruce picked up the check.


	15. A Father's Legacy

It was a warm Wednesday afternoon and Jack Ramsey sat on the front stoop of his broken-down old rooming house, doing his chemistry homework. It was easy for him; he loved all of his science and math classes and had excellent grades. One of his teachers had even spoken to him about scholarships he could qualify for, saying that he was well on his way to being accepted to any of the best engineering schools in the country.

That had made him feel good; it was rare that a teacher bothered to encourage him in anything, much less a college career. It almost made him feel that there was a chance for him, a real future, something he could work toward. He was pondering one of the word problems before him when a stranger shuffled out of the house and sat down next to him.

Jack sized him up quickly. Older than himself by at least ten years, skinny and pale, dark circles under his eyes. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt on a warm day. Greasy hair, furtive look. _Heroin addict, _Jack thought with a roll of his eyes. He looked back at his work, ignoring his new companion.

"Hey, man, you just moved in, yeah?" the man asked.

Jack gave a curt nod.

"I thought I'd seen you around. Hey, got a light?" He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Jack shook his head without looking up.

"That's all right, I've got one, somewhere...." The man fished around in his shirt pocket for a lighter and lit up. Jack smelled not tobacco, but the distinctive odor of pot. The man took a long drag and then offered the joint to Jack.

He considered, glancing to his right, then his left. No cops. There hadn't been a sign of one since he moved in a week ago, except for Saturday night, when the unmistakable sounds of a domestic disturbance had filled the late night air, and Jack and Bruce had watched from the window as the police led a yelling, drunken man out of the house and towards the flashing, insistent lights of a cop car.

Jack took the joint and inhaled deeply. _What the hell, might as well_....

He nodded his thanks and handed it back. The man took his turn. They shared a few more drags, until Jack shook his head, holding his hand up to indicate he was done. The pleasurable sensation of the drug hitting his nervous system made him feel relaxed and calm, and he didn't want any more than that. He had homework to do.

"Good stuff, ain't it? Listen, my name's Ben, what's yours?"

"Jack."

"Hello, Jack, welcome to the neighborhood. What's that you've got there?"

"Homework."

"Oh-ho, college man, eh?"

Jack just shrugged. He didn't intend to reveal anything more about himself than was absolutely necessary.

"Yeah, I never made it all the way to college, wish I had. Hey, listen, you ever need a spliff or two, you look me up, I'm in 1-D."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jack said sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah, I've got the best stuff in town. If you want a bag...."

"No thanks, man, money's a little tight right now..." Jack wished the creep would fuck off, but he didn't want to make an enemy of someone who lived in the building.

"Aw, I know how that is. Boy, do I! Lemme tell you something, you ever need a little extra cash, I can hook you up. I know this guy and...."

"Look, I'm not interested, ok? Forget it. Just...you know, forget it."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Just tryin' to help! Easy money, you know? I've got a couple of clients myself, and..."

"I said, forget it." Jack closed his book and gathered his papers, stood, and headed back into the house.

"Hey, don't go away mad! Just tryin' to clue you in, man, I'm talking serious cash...."

"No thanks..." Jack's voice trailed off as the door shut behind him.

"Have it your way, pal. But...listen, I'll see you around, ok?" Ben said thoughtfully, but there was no one there to hear him.

* * *

Bruce drove down the highway toward his Aunt Miri's place. She had invited him for dinner yet again, and this time she was oddly insistent. He couldn't put her off any longer. It wasn't that he minded spending time with her, it was just that...now that Jack had to support himself, he was working as many extra hours as possible, and that meant even less time that the two boys had to spend together. Bruce hated giving up even one evening with his lover, but Miri had been so unrelenting, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

He snaked down the long driveway to her huge estate, and sighed. He hoped she wasn't going to try to talk him out of seeing Jack anymore. He had heard from Alfred that she had been quite upset over Jack's stint in the local jail, and he had a strong feeling that she was going to "talk some sense into him", as she often took it upon herself to do when she thought he was going in the wrong direction. _"Might as well save your breath, Auntie," _he thought with a grim smile. He was in love, and he couldn't help it if it was with someone she disapproved of. She'd just have to get over it.

"Hi, Aunt Miri!" Bruce greeted her with a hug when she met him at the door.

"My sweet boy, so good to see you," Miriam exclaimed. "Once again, it's been too long, you really are neglecting your loving aunt...."

"I know, I'm sorry. There's just so much going on with school and football and...."

"Yes, yes, I know, the life of a handsome young man-about-town, no time for old ladies, eh?"

"It's not that...."

"Come, love, let's sit down. Oh, darling, I am so looking forward to the summer. I've been thinking, and I've decided to scoop you up as soon as you're out of school and take you on a little trip." Miriam beamed at her nephew.

"A trip? Where to?" asked Bruce, bewildered. Miri had said nothing about a trip.

"Actually, I suppose you could call it more of a, well, a _tour. _We're going to visit every one of the Wayne Enterprises offices throughout the country. Pittsburg, Detroit, Columbus, Chicago, St. Louis, all the way over to the west coast, it will be _fabulous!"_

"All the away offices?" Bruce wrinkled his nose in distaste. "How long will that take?"

"Oh, goodness, I don't know, at least a few weeks. And, we'll have a proper little vacation in California, I have a place down there you know, so we'll be gone, um, maybe two months!"

"Two _months! _Aunt M, I can't...."

"Oh, don't start, Brucie, this is exactly what you need. Some time away, seeing new things, learning about the business...by the time we get back, you'll be ready to get to work at the main office! I cannot wait to introduce you to those stuffy executives, you are going to knock them on their collective ass--I want them to see what the future of Wayne Enterprises really looks like, I want them to understand that I'll be leaving the leadership of our company in very capable hands, someone who will revitalize the mission that your father put into place..."

"N-no, you don't understand, I can't be gone for two months, I...."

"Nonsense, sweetheart, we have so much to do, and we're already behind! We--"

"I said, _no! _I'm not going to be away from Jack for that long, and he has to work, so I can't bring him with me. I'm sorry, but I'm not going, that's all there is to it." Bruce looked at his aunt defiantly, arms crossed, his mouth set.

Miriam stared at him for a moment as if shocked.

"Bruce...please. Do not for one moment suggest to me that you're putting that...that _boy_ ahead of your education..."

"My education?"

"Of course! Darling, you have so much to learn. There are so many expectations riding on your shoulders. The city of Gotham needs you..."

"_Gotham? _What has Gotham got to do with this?"

Miriam sat back and gave Bruce a dark look.

"Are you living in such a perfect little bubble that you don't know? Have I allowed you to live such an insulated life that you are unaware of what is going on in our great city? The city that your father brought back from the brink of disaster?"

"What do you mean?"

"Crime...poverty...urban blight...Gotham is swimming in corruption, from the mayor on down. Everything your father worked so long and hard for has been being systematically dismantled, piece by piece--organized crime has a stranglehold on much of the city, and they want more, criminals are running loose making it impossible for honest citizens to walk the streets at night. You of all people should understand about that...."

"And, what exactly do you think _I'm_ going to do about it?" asked Bruce, baffled.

"You are going to breathe life back into Wayne Enterprises, pick up where your father left off. I tried. God knows, I tried. But...I came to it too late, I've spent too many years simply holding off the wolves, trying to keep control and wrestle the business back into our own hands. There are people in power in our company, Bruce, and they...they do not share your father's and my vision. But you do. And, you're young. You can do what I no longer have time to do."

"I don't understand."

Miriam stood, casting her gaze away from her nephew, and walked to the French doors to stare out into her rose garden.

"I just found out...I'm...ill."

There was something in the way she said it...Bruce understood that she was alluding to something quite serious.

"Ill? Auntie M, what...what is it?"

"I don't want to go into it right now. The point is, I don't know how much time I have left. It could be a year, it could be more, but, regardless, it won't be enough. I won't be around to...to take care of things. You're the one, Bruce. You've always been the one. Your father, God rest his soul, _he_ would have raised you properly, groomed you to take on the leadership role that he created, but he didn't have the chance." The older woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.

"I...I tried, but there was no time. It's my greatest regret, I always thought there _would_ be time, but...here we are. You're practically an adult and I'm on my way out...I have to make every moment count. I have so much to teach you, there's so much you need to know...." Miriam turned to face him, her arms spread in a wide, openhanded gesture.

Bruce forced himself to push his concern for his beloved aunt aside and focus on her intentions.

"Wait a minute! Just..._wait. _This is crazy talk! You sound as if I have no choice, as if I'm..._fated _to..."

"Exactly. That's exactly it, my boy. It is your _fate. _You were born for a reason, we all were, and _your _reason for being is to fulfill your father's vision for this city. There's no one else! It's...up to you."

Bruce's mind was now reeling. Miriam spoke with a passion and conviction that he'd never heard before, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the urgency of her story. He tried to wrest the conversation back to reality.

"_No. _I don't even know what I want to do with my life, not yet. But, whatever it is, I can't save an entire city! That's just ridiculous...."

"No, no, no, you don't understand. It's not you _alone. _There are good people--people your father hand-picked, but they can only do so much. They need a leader, and they need someone who has the clout to bring things back into focus. Wayne Enterprises is only a business, a very successful business, but it's not what makes things happen. It only provides the money to _allow_ things to happen."

"And you think I'll be the one to..."

"To put ideas into action. To be a force against the darkness! Oh..." Miriam suddenly looked exhausted and Bruce thought she might faint. He hastily helped her to take a seat. She was quiet for several moments before taking a deep breath.

"I know I've thrown a lot at you. I know this is difficult. I'm expecting you to grow up very fast, and it's not fair. But, lots of things in life aren't fair. Was it fair that your parents' lives were cut short?" Miriam's voice dropped to a lower register.

"Think about it, darling--haven't you always wished to avenge their deaths?"

Bruce caught his breath; his fury over his parents' fate was constantly simmering at the back of his mind. It was something he fought to control, especially in front of others...how could she read him so plainly?

"What better way to honor your parents than to carry on your father's legacy? What better way to...to channel your anger...than to get the city he loved back on track? All we can do is _try...._That's what I'm asking of you, Bruce. Please try. Give me the opportunity to show you how great this city could be. I think you'll find that what you want out of life is all right here. It's just waiting for you to take it."

Bruce sighed. His father's legacy...he'd always wanted to be like his father. But, what Miriam spoke of...it was too much. He couldn't live up to expectations like that. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

They sat in silence until the maid called them for dinner.

* * *

The splendid luxury of Bruce's comfy bed was a nice contrast to Jack's rough accommodations, and he had to admit he was enjoying it. But, lying under Bruce, staring up at his dark-eyed lover as the older boy violently thrust into him, Jack was slightly bewildered; Bruce was a pretty lazy lover most of the time, preferring languid kisses and long make-out sessions to this kind of hasty, almost brutal coupling. He usually liked a slow, lengthy, build up to the main event rather than a rapid-fire pounding such as he was inflicting on the skinny teen beneath him, and Jack was wondering what the heck was going on with him.

Not that Jack minded. He was the one always reduced to pleading, "_Harder, _Bruce! Fuck me harder...." when his boyfriend shilly-shallied around too long before going for the gold. But this was..._weird._

Bruce cried out, a deep groan followed, and, spent, he rolled off of Jack, falling flat on his back next to him, too wiped out to pull the blond with him into a tight embrace as he normally did after a bout of lovemaking.

"Jeeze, Bruce, what the hell...?" Jack asked quizzically, sitting halfway up on his elbows to look at the other. Something was definitely getting to his partner, and he was going to find out what it was.

"Wha...wha'sa matter?" asked Bruce breathlessly. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Uh...no, that was..._incredible. _But...damn, Brucie, you about wore me out!" Jack grinned, rolled over onto his stomach and peered curiously at his bedmate.

"You're not usually so...super-charged, you know? Like a damn jack-hammer, ha-ha! Are you ok?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm all right. I just felt kind of...."

"What?"

"I don't know...I just wanted to...lose myself...."

"Huh? _Lose_ yourself...."

"I don't know! I just felt like doing it like that, you know?" Bruce suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. He had used Jack's body as a distraction, made what was usually an expression of love into an uncaring sex act, nothing more. It wasn't right, he thought, but he couldn't help it...surely Jack would understand...he'd talk to him, later, right now he just wanted to slip into unconsciousness.

"Uh-huh. But, I mean, you're not mad at me, or...."

"No, of course not."

"Ok. I thought maybe...."

"No! For God's sake, Jack, can't we just go to sleep now?"

"Yeah, sure...it's just that sometimes you keep things in and I feel like you...."

"JACK! Shut the hell up and go to sleep, _please!"_

"Ok! Whatever, I mean, as long as _I _had a good time, what the hell do I care what _your_ problem is?...Good-night, you tight-lipped bastard," Jack muttered under his breath as he rolled over and turned out the light. He hated it when Bruce wouldn't talk to him about something that was bothering him. It always left him thinking that whatever it was had something to do with him, Jack, and made him wonder if Bruce was ready to dump him. If he'd finally decided to go back to Rachel, or, worse, that he'd found a _boy_ he liked better, someone classy, who wouldn't be such an embarrassment to him....

They were both quiet, and Jack had drifted off to sleep, when Bruce's voice suddenly cut through the dark.

"Fuck me," he demanded. Jack's eyes immediately flew open and he lay still for a moment, thinking he had perhaps only dreamed the words.

_"Huh?"_ Jack asked. "_What_ did you say?"

"You heard me. I want you to fuck me." Bruce's voice was raw and hard-edged.

Jack rolled over and looked at him in consternation. The only light came from the moon shining into the room through the window.

"You're kidding." It wasn't as if the thought had never occurred to Jack, he had just always assumed that Bruce wasn't quite ready to let go of that last bastion of his tattered heterosexuality, and _he_ wasn't going to be the one responsible for tearing it down.

"No. Do it, right now. I _want _you to." Bruce was staring straight up at the ceiling, refusing to look at Jack.

"Well, sure, I'd...I'd love that, babe, but..."

"But _what?" _he asked impatiently.

"But...what brought this on? I mean, you're acting kind of weird tonight, you didn't take some kind of pills or something...."

_"No, _goddamn it! I don't want a big discussion about this, just do it!" Bruce looked at him, and Jack could see he had an angry expression on his face.

"Ok, ok, if you're sure that's what you want...."

"I'm _sure_. Come _on...."_

"Just like that? Don't you want to, you know, make out a little first? I have to say, I could use a little, uh, _encouragement. _I mean, I was _asleep_. And, just pointing out a technical observation, you are, shall we say, unprepared? And, believe me, for your first time?--you _won't _like it...so how about we take this a little slow, huh?"

Bruce gave him a look of frustration, but relented with a sigh.

"Ok...I guess. I...I put myself in your hands, er, well, you know...."

Jack grinned.

"Ok, old buddy, come here." Bruce launched himself into Jack's arms and submitted to a long, tender kiss. Jack took the other's hand and placed it on his un-awakened member, leaving Bruce to "encourage" him into an erection. Bruce pulled away from the kiss and moved lower, taking his lover into his mouth, teasing and licking, then sucking, until he got the result he wanted. He slid back up to look Jack in the eye, and then turned over onto his side.

Jack found the lubricant, and gently began preparing his partner, sliding a long, slender finger into Bruce's entrance. At first, Bruce thought he couldn't stand it, the intensity of the intrusion was too much. But, with Jack softly whispering loving instructions to him to relax, to breathe, to let him in, and with him kissing and nibbling Bruce's vulnerable neck and shoulder, he found himself gradually letting go. He suddenly felt Jack's fingertip hit a spot that caused him to gasp in pleasure and somehow everything seemed to fall into place for him after that.

Jack continued caressing him with his free hand, and helping to ready him with the other, slipping in a second finger and probing deeper, until Bruce begged in a raspy voice, "Do it, Jack. Please...I want you to...."

"You sure? "Jack asked doubtfully.

"_Yes_, dammit! I know what I want...."

"Ok. Roll over on your tummy, huh? Or would you rather...."

"God, Jack, just do it..." came Bruce's anguished plea.

"All right." Jack positioned himself behind his lover and applied the slick lubricant onto his erection, then gave an experimental thrust into the tight, never-explored entrance.

Bruce grunted, surprised at the strange invasive feeling, and was almost disappointed to find that it hardly hurt at all. He wanted something to wreck his mind, to take away the confusion and disturbance that had been eating at him ever since his meeting with his aunt.

"You ok?" Jack asked gingerly.

"Yes. Just...just _go."_

Jack complied, thrusting deeper, but pausing as he went, giving Bruce a chance to get used to his hard member being inside him.

Bruce tried to cope with the sudden pressure on his bladder, it was almost overwhelming. He started to ask Jack to stop, but remembered to take a deep breath and relax, as Jack had instructed. When he finally felt the other's hips pressed against his rear, he knew he had taken the entire length.

Jack lovingly ran his hands up and down over Bruce's back before re-positioning himself with his hands gripping his lover's hips, preparing to begin thrusting into him.

"I love you, Bruce," he said softly.

"Yes, good, go on, please, just go ahead...."

Jack took a breath and drew back, then thrust in. Bruce made a strange sound, but didn't protest. The blond repeated the action, trying to control his rising need to drive himself into his lover's slick, velvety channel for the very first time, but after the third measured thrust, he couldn't stand it anymore and began _fucking _him, deep and hard, hoping he was hitting Bruce's prostate and bringing him pleasure rather than just violating him.

His concerns passed when he heard Bruce gasping and moaning, and felt him respond with weak counter-thrusts which gradually became stronger and more pronounced.

Jack reached down and grasped Bruce's cock firmly, stroking him as he slid in and out of him. Bruce groaned and muttered something unintelligible, and after only a few delicious moments of this attention, came hard, spurting onto the fresh, cotton sheets.

Jack smiled and allowed himself to let go as well, shooting his semen into his lover as he cried out in orgasm. He wrapped himself around Bruce's body, hugging him closely, before pulling out and laying down next to him. Bruce rolled onto his back, stunned.

They lay in silence, the only sounds being their rapid breathing and the distant hum of the city. Finally, Jack spoke.

"I don't know what the hell's going on with you, babe, but I have to say, I like it!" He grinned playfully and looked over at Bruce, hoping for a snarky comeback, an insult, a kind word, anything.

But Bruce had flung his arm across his eyes. He didn't answer.

He had to figure things out. He had to....


	16. Surprise!

**A/N: Ok, this is some real fluffy stuff here, but that's to lull you into a false sense of security...the next chapter will be...difficult. So stay with me! Please, review and thank you for reading.**

**Reeniecat**

* * *

The spring semester was coming to a close. The dull agony of suffering through the last few boring days of classes was in direct counterpoint to the almost electric air of excitement coursing through hallway conversations as students exchanged talk of their wonderful plans for the summer....

But, Bruce Wayne didn't share the excitement.

Bruce had adamantly refused to allow Aunt Miri to whisk him away on a trip as soon as school was out, negotiating instead to be allowed to spend at least one month working at Wayne Enterprises' home office with her, learning the ropes, finding out who was who, and generally getting a feel for the business. He had convinced Miriam that, in this way, he would become more enthusiastic about his future and would be, perhaps, more willing to head out on a tour of the away offices later in the summer.

In truth, he was simply putting off the inevitable. He had been having a hellish battle within himself ever since Miriam laid out her hopes for his future, and had finally decided that he would have to try to fulfill his father's vision. He took out the hand-written journal his father had keep until his death, and seriously read it for the first time. What had seemed to be terribly boring reflections to his twelve-year-old mind now became a vivid window into his father's heart and soul. He knew what he had to do.

But, Bruce couldn't bear having to tell Jack that he would be away for the rest of the summer, and that next year he would be immersed in the Wayne family business whenever he wasn't at school. He couldn't bear that thought, himself; Jack was a part of him now. He just hoped their relationship was strong enough to withstand a period of separation until he could figure out how to resolve all the challenges that had been thrown at him so suddenly.

Miriam, a superb negotiator, didn't like it, but she finally agreed. The hoped-for effect of separating Bruce from his ragtag little boyfriend wouldn't be achieved as quickly as she had wished, but that _would _come, eventually. In fact, it might even happen more quickly this way.

Once Bruce saw the job that lay before him, surely he would understand--there was no room for a budding criminal in his world. He could finish whatever sexual adventuring he needed to get out of his system, dump the little bastard, and start fresh when they returned from the trip later in the summer. If Rachel was no longer his idea of a suitable partner, well, at least he would come to see that Jack definitely wasn't, either.

And, it would be so much better if he reached that conclusion on his own.

* * *

Jack lay alone in his bed, sweaty and shirtless, his fingernails still caked with the motor oil that wouldn't wash away without a scrub brush and de-greaser. There was no point in cleaning himself up as Bruce had cancelled their date to hang out together that evening, and he was too tired to bother just for himself.

He was working full-time now that school was out, and without homework and school events, he was somewhat at loose ends on evenings without Bruce. He had made other friends, but no one he wanted to go to the effort of calling and setting up an outing with. He didn't fit in with anyone else, anyway; being alone was actually less stressful, and he usually didn't mind. But, tonight...he felt lonely.

He didn't understand what was going on with his boyfriend. Bruce was in some kind of funk, quiet and withdrawn, and he refused to talk about it. Jack had feared that he was about to break up with him for sure, but that hadn't happened yet and it was going on two weeks. It had to be something else, but Jack couldn't imagine what.

Bruce had started working with his aunt, but surely that wasn't so awful. In fact, when he could get Bruce going on the subject, it sounded kind of fun. Jack found the machinations of big business and finance to be very interesting, and Bruce's tales of conniving, back-stabbing corporate types were very amusing to him.

Maybe he was just having to be too serious, too soon. Miri had insisted he start just a few days after school let out, and Jack thought maybe Bruce needed more time to relax and let go of all the tensions from the school year. But the dark-haired teen had refused to go goof off with him, saying he owed his aunt so much and he needed to concentrate on what she was trying to teach him, etc., etc.

Jack reached under his bed for a tray containing a small bag of weed and rolling papers, and began rolling a joint. As he flicked a lighter to the end of the illegal cigarette, he inhaled deeply and, after holding it in, exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl around him and softly fade into the heavy air.

Bruce needed to have some fun.

If he wouldn't let Jack talk him into it, Jack would just have to insist. A lazy smile spread across his face as an idea came to him.

Thursday. Thursday was Jack's day off. That would work.

Damn it, he would show Bruce a good time, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Wayne Enterprises on Thursdays was a beehive of activity. Busy executives trying to clear their calendar for Friday so they could have a long weekend were barking orders at beleaguered secretaries; phones jangled incessantly, copiers were clacking away, delivery men were zipping in and out, and Bruce was exasperated.

Miriam had not been feeling well, and had left him to fend for himself during a morning full of tedious meetings, starting with the Human Resources department, which Bruce thought could well have been the most boring hour and a half that he had ever suffered through in his life. That was followed by a meeting with the shipping department managers, which moved to the top of his list for deadly dullness, but was quickly shot down to second place after he endured an hour in the company of the elderly operations manager, who had quite a few things to say on the subject of widgets.

When that meeting finally dragged to an agonizing close, he headed to his car to grab a quick lunch. His mind was fogged and he needed a break. He had an appointment in the afternoon with the head accounts manager to learn about the overseas clients that he needed to become familiar with, and he knew Miriam would quiz him about it later. He could only hope that one would be a more lively sort than the operations guy.

He had just stuck the key in his car door when a strong hand roughly covered his mouth and a hard piece of metal was jabbed into his back.

"Hands behind your back, asshole," a deep gruff voice commanded. Numbly, he complied as the metal object ground painfully into his waist.

Bruce's mind started to reel into panic mode as he felt cold steel wrapping around his wrists and the sharp "click" of handcuffs locking resonated in his ears. A cloth was tied over his eyes. The man grasped his upper arm tightly, in an attempt to lead him away from his vehicle.

A shot of adrenaline hit his brain and Bruce whirled out of the man's grasp, blindly aiming a roundhouse kick at his assailant, but missing. He was steadying himself in preparation for another, when he realized the man was laughing.

"What the...." Bruce sputtered and gasped, trying vainly to see under the blindfold.

Suddenly, the cloth was jerked upward, restoring his vision, and Bruce recognized that his skinny, blond-haired assailant was Jack. They stared at each other for a split second, and then Jack almost doubled over with more laughter.

"Oh, God, you should see your face! Priceless! Oh, this is killing me...." he chortled.

"I'll tell you what's going to kill you, my _fist _as soon as you get these freaking handcuffs off of me...." Relief combined with intense fury flooded Bruce's consciousness as he aimed another kick, this one not quite so lethal, but still failing to connect to the lithe and quick-witted youth's rear end.

"Now, Bruce, don't you know anything about being kidnapped?" Jack asked pityingly. "I can't un-cuff ya until I get you to my sinister lair...."

_"Jack!"_

"Huh?"

_"Get them off!"_

"Ok, ok, if you're going to make a big deal out of it, yes sir, right away!" Jack made a show of slapping his pockets in search of the necessary item, then he shrugged apologetically.

"Oops! Seems I lost the key..." Jack giggled in devilish amusement.

""Jack, take off the goddamn cuffs...."

"Uh-uh, sorry, not only do I not have a key, but I now fear for my personal safety. Plus, I'll never get you into the car if you have the use of your hands...."

"I'm not getting in a car with you while you're in this idiotic mood, and anyway, I have to be back in the office by one. Now, take these things off of me _right now_, or I'll beat you to a bloody pulp."

"No!"

_"Do _it!"

"I can't! I'm tellin' you, buddy, I don't have a key!"

Bruce was getting intensely frustrated.

"What the hell do you _mean_ you don't have a key? Jack Ramsey, get me out of these fucking things immediately, I am _deadly_ serious!" Bruce's voice was becoming raspy with exasperation.

"Well, how would you suggest I do that?" Jack's face was scrunched up with the effort of containing his gleeful laughter.

"Call a damn locksmith! I can't believe you'd do this, what kind of moron are you? I can't stand this much longer you bastard, get me out of these things!" Bruce's panic level was beginning to rise again at the thought of being trapped indefinitely, not to mention the possibility that someone from the office might come along and see his predicament.

Jack collapsed against the car, he was laughing so hard.

"Oh, you are too much! For fuck's sake, stop being such a baby, they're, you know, magician's cuffs! You just kind of flick your wrist. Like this." Jack demonstrated the action needed and after a few tries, Bruce was freed. He stood for a moment rubbing his reddened wrists and stared at Jack in a decidedly menacing manner as his impish lover grinned triumphantly at him.

"Come here, little kidnapper, let me explain to you why crime doesn't pay...." Bruce growled, now advancing on his still-smirking boyfriend, clearly intent on physically expressing his dissatisfaction with his method of making a date with him.

_"NO! _No, no, no, get in the car, dumb-ass! I 'm not finished kidnapping you yet!"

_"What?' _

"Get in the car, come on, come on, come on...." Jack fluidly re-locked and pulled the keys from Bruce's car door, then skittered over to his own vehicle, nimbly avoiding Bruce's attempts to grab and throttle him, opened the passenger door and gestured entreatingly to him. Bruce glared at him for a moment before deciding the whole thing was kind of, well, _sweet, _in an infuriating, confounding way. He took a deep, calming breath and tried reason with him once again.

"Jack, this is all very amusing, but I really have to go back to the office. Miriam's set up meetings, and I can't embarrass her by not showing up." Bruce had given up on wreaking revenge on his partner and was now leaning tiredly against the hood of the car.

"And, that's the beauty of being kidnapped! Control is taken out of your hands. Now, _get _in the _car."_

"Jack, I can't..."

"Aw, _sure_ you can! Say, don't make me cuff ya again...." the blond teen threatened, holding up the trick cuffs ominously.

_"No..."_ replied Bruce flatly.

Jack stood, deflated, as his stubborn boyfriend woodenly refused to budge. He resorted to pleading.

"Aw, come on Bruce, I haven't seen you for days...you're always too busy."

"I know, babe, I'm really in over my head. I'm sorry, I'm going to make it up to you soon, though, just let me..."

"Bruce...." Jack's voice was serious now. "Please get in the car. We're going to do something fun, just you and me. I've got it all planned. It's a surprise! Come on, love, _please_...." The sad brown eyes and the gorgeous, wheedling smile made Bruce melt, and he sighed.

All right. If Jack intended to whisk him away for an afternoon of wild sex, who was he to argue? And, what the hell, anyway. Aunt Miri would just have to understand, he was young after all....

"Well...I guess I can't argue with such a terrifying criminal as yourself. Ok...but, where are we going?"

"Ah-ah-ah, if I told you that, I wouldn't be much of a kidnapper, now would I? Just get in the car already!" Happy again, Jack was almost jumping up and down with excitement.

Bruce's stern expression dissolved into a grin of affection and he dutifully followed instructions. Jack helpfully put his hand on Bruce's head to guide him into the car, cop-style, then scampered to the driver's side.

"All right, all right, take me to your evil lair, I could use a nap...." Bruce sighed, shaking his head resignedly as Jack settled into the driver's seat.

Jack grabbed Bruce, pulling him into a delicious kiss. "Ha, no nap for you," he warned.

Bruce felt a stirring in his trousers, and idly wondered where the security cameras were located, and how easy or difficult it would be to avoid being filmed if he had sex with Jack right then and there in the back seat. But instead, the skinny blond boy revved up the engine and headed out.

"Ok, now tell me where we're going, at least."

"It's a fucking _surprise_, what about that do you not understand?"

"I don't want to see naked women."

"Huh?"

"If you're taking me to a strip club or some such thing, I'm not interested."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, do you really think I want to get you interested in _women _again? Anyway, unless you're gonna pull fake id's out of your ass, they wouldn't let us in 'cause we're underage...."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing stuff you wanted to do?"

"Uh...well, yeah. But, we're not going to a strip club, jeeze..."

"Then where?"

"Can't I just surprise you?"

"No. I never liked surprises."

"Ugh, you are such a tight-ass. Fine. Here's where we're going."

Jack pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Bruce.

In it were two tickets to the most famous circus in the world, playing for one week only in Gotham City.

"The..._circus?" _Bruce asked disbelievingly.

Jack chuckled with satisfaction.

"Yeah, babe! Have you ever been?"

"Once...when I was five. The clowns terrified me," Bruce admitted, dredging up a long ago memory of his mother carrying him out of a circus tent in hysterics.

"You're kidding! What a wuss. I always loved clowns."

"You did?"

"Yeah! My mom used to work concessions at the sports arena and she would take me to all the kid events, especially the circus. I got to go backstage and meet the performers, and the clowns were always the coolest...one guy showed me how to apply greasepaint just like him, that was neat...oh, and I got to pet the elephants and feed the horses, and watch the trapeze artists practice, it was so great, I just loved it...."

Bruce smiled at his boyfriend's sweet, innocent reminiscences. He was all too accustomed to hearing of the sad, even horrible, things that Jack had endured growing up, and he was delighted to find that Jack did have some pleasant memories as well.

"Well, I'll try to keep an open mind about the clown thing...." Bruce stated.

"Aw, if a clown comes after you, I'll protect ya! You just gotta know how to talk to 'em...." Jack winked at Bruce as he pulled into the parking lot of the arena grounds.

* * *

To Bruce's surprise, the circus _was_ wonderful. They had good seats, and, in spite of Bruce's protests and offers to pay, Jack bought them popcorn and cold drinks.

There was non-stop action, glitz and glamour, and dramatic feats of magic and skill. And the clowns were pretty funny, after all. Bruce stole a few glances at his companion and was touched to see Jack's genuinely delighted interest in the performances. Jack didn't seem to have too many pure, innocent pleasures in his life and Bruce liked seeing him this way.

They were lost in the circus world for the rest of the afternoon, as Jack had wangled a visit to the animal yard after the show and they got to see the horses, tigers, and elephants as they were being cared for after their performances. They were even treated to a back-stage tour by the circus manager, who apparently was happy to spend some time in the presence of two handsome young men, and they got to meet many of the performers, including some non-threatening clowns, although Bruce inwardly still thought they were a bit creepy....

Afterward, they had a dinner of cheeseburgers and fries, and eventually ended up at Jack's place. Jack pulled Bruce down on the bed with him, and between passionate kisses, they undressed and began tenderly making love, taking turns orally pleasuring each other before Bruce pushed Jack onto his side in a position that allowed him to slide deep inside him for a nice, long, leisurely fuck. Jack was relieved and happy to find that Bruce was his usual loving, caring self again.

Afterward, Bruce held Jack in his arms, reveling in his scent and the feel of his warm body against his.

"It feels so good to hold you...I've missed this," Bruce murmured.

"Yeah...me too. Why d'you have to be so busy all the time, huh?"

"I...." Bruce was almost ready to tell Jack about everything that had been laid before him, starting with his aunt's plans for him, and following with his father's vision as described in his journal, but all of that suddenly seemed very distant and ethereal. It was Jack--kidnapping him so he could take him to the circus, spending his meager funds to steal him away from his duties; Jack, making love and lying in his arms--_that_ was real. That was all he really wanted, ever...he couldn't take a chance on ruining this.

"I'm just helping out my aunt. She's sick...she wants me to get ready to join the firm after I graduate. But...it's really demanding and boring, and I don't even know if it's what I want to do...."

"Aw, you're too young to worry about all that stuff! Tell her to promote one of those old geezers that've been shuffling around there for thirty years, and to leave you alone."

"Well, that's a thought...."

"Oh, yeah, you've got lots more important things to do, like, uh_, me...."_

"I do like doing you, that's true...." Bruce acknowledged with a hug, pressing a kiss onto Jack's forehead.

"And, oh, driving fast cars...."

"Uh-huh...."

"And, sailboats...."

"Do I like sailboats?'

"Dunno. Probably. Anyway...you tell her to back off and let you be a kid for a while longer."

"What if Wayne Enterprises goes bankrupt?"

"Aw, who cares? _I'll_ take care of ya!"

"Um, with all the cash you've got rolling in? I can see how you'd want to share all...this," Bruce grandly waved a hand at the ramshackle room.

"Sure, I'll be glad to split my Spam and ramen noodles with you...."

"Is that what you're eating these days?"

"After buying those circus tickets, oh, yeah...."

"I'll pay for mine..."

"NO! It was a present from me, to you, dammit. Don't argue, I can afford it, and I _like_ Spam...."

Bruce gazed down at his lover's s handsome face and kissed him gently. Everything was suddenly very clear to him.

"You...are something else, you know that?" Bruce murmured.

"Mmm," answered Jack contentedly.

Bruce couldn't risk losing this.

He _wouldn't._

Miriam would just have to understand.

* * *


	17. Lost

**A/N: FYI, this is NOT a happy chapter. Hope you stay with me! **

**Thanks,**

**Reeniecat**

The summer days were passing quickly for Bruce. He felt lighter, freer, now that he had come to the simple realization that he was not going to excise Jack from his life. He would _not _be throwing himself into the world of Wayne Enterprises completely, and he would not lose his soul to the behemoth corporation or to his aunt's extreme vision of his future. He no longer hesitated to say "no" to her when she wanted him to stay late, knowing he had a date with Jack. He no longer agonized over whether or not to have his sweetheart stay over on evenings when Aunt Miri dropped in for dinner.

And he was most assuredly _not _going to go on a mind-numbingly dull tour of the Mid-Western branch offices, not this summer, probably not _ever, _if he had any choice in the matter at all. Not without Jack, anyway. As far as he was concerned, they belonged alongside each other, now and always, and he didn't care what Miriam thought about it.

He would do his best to learn, he would give his full attention when some old codger went on about profit and loss statements, returns on investment, shipping manifests, or whatever, but at the end of the day, he was a seventeen-year-old boy and he had a sweet lover that made him happier than he'd ever been in his life. He wouldn't miss a minute of their time together for anything in the world. All of which had become painfully apparent to Miriam.

To Miriam's intense frustration, Bruce was no longer the malleable, slightly intimidated youth she had counted on to take her instructions and guidance seriously; he had become distant and determined, as likely to walk out of a meeting of the board of directors as he was to go for a snack during a boring television show.

And it was all on account of that _boy._

Miriam didn't understand it, but she definitely did not like it. A young man in Bruce's situation couldn't afford the distraction, the divided loyalty; she needed his attention in its _entirety, _and she needed his devotion. As long as the _boy _was around, clearly, she would get neither.

Merely talking to Bruce did no good. He had a stubborn streak, just like his father, and she knew well enough what that meant--the more she persisted, the more he'd dig his heels in. He wasn't hearing her, he wasn't listening....she had to take matters into her own hands, and she had to do it _now_, before it was too late.

* * *

One day, Miriam gave Alfred instructions; it was his job to research Jack Ramsey's past, to find out everything damning about the young hoodlum that could possibly be discovered, even if it meant hiring a private detective, or sending Alfred himself to interview people. Miri had a feeling--there was more to the teen's anti-social behavior than a rocky upbringing. She was going into battle, and she would be fully armed--her weapons would be information and her ammunition, the truth. Bruce would see, then. Bruce would understand.

* * *

Jack awoke in Bruce's bed to lazy kisses. They started at his forehead, hopped down to his nose, then his lips--he sleepily responded at that point--to his chin, over his neck, with little side bites to his shoulder, down to his nipples, kisses punctuated by teeth grasping the small nubs, over his stomach, a tongue pausing to lap at his belly-button, on down to his now-erect member. The delicious warmth of Bruce's mouth encircling him, gently sucking then teeth scraping, taking him deeper...Jack shivered with pleasure, arching his back and moaning.

"You're one hell of a good alarm clock, boy...." he murmured, running long slender fingers sensuously through Bruce's thatch of thick tousled dark hair. Bruce stopped long enough to grin at him before continuing the pleasurable wake-up procedure. After a little more attention to the straining erection, his tongue ventured lower, to the area he had so thoroughly explored the night before, offering soft, soothing wet caresses to the slightly sore entrance.

"How's that feel?" he asked his blond-haired lover.

"Like a cool sponge on a hot fire, babe...damn, you couldn't get enough last night, could ya?"

"Still can't...." Bruce had Jack turn over on his belly, and, after using an ample amount of lube, proceeded to mount him again,

"Aw, jeeze, what am I, a two-dollar whore? Can't we discuss this? Ah, oooh, God, _yes...."_

"Hush, now, I have a lot of time to make up for...we missed whole weeks back at the beginning of summer...I'm not hurting you, am I?" asked Bruce, suddenly worried.

"Nooo...keep going, Tarzan, you're doing fine...."

Bruce grinned and made love to his boyfriend until the intercom interrupted their passion.

"Master Wayne, sir? Your Aunt Miri's here."

"Oh, fuuuuuck...."groaned Bruce irritably. "Tell her I'm busy...."

"Yeah, he's busy fuckin' the shit out of his boyfriend!" Jack piped up helpfully, and the two collapsed on the bed in laughter. There was silence on the other end of the intercom.

"I'll tell her you'll be down directly," said the butler dryly. The intercom clicked off abruptly.

"I think I hate your aunt," Jack said cheerfully as he snuggled into Bruce's arms.

"I'm not too crazy about her right now, either...." Bruce agreed tiredly. They indulged in a deep, loving kiss and reluctantly roused themselves out of bed to dress and face the day.

Neither knew it would be the last kiss they'd share for many, many years.

* * *

"All right, Alfred. Does all this make sense?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I really have to say...."

"I know, I know, you don't feel right about it, I understand that. But it's necessary, don't you agree?"

"I...I suppose so, ma'am."

"Of course it is. Bruce is simply not mature enough to face the truth, and while I would love to give him time to find out on his own, I simply don't have that luxury. There's too much at stake, there's too much at _risk_....I _can_ count on you, can't I? I don't have to worry about you breaking my trust?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good. I know how hard this is for you, I know you love Bruce like a son, and you don't want to see him in pain. And, this _will _be difficult for him. It won't be fun to watch him suffer. But he's young, he'll get over it. Once he realizes the truth, he'll be fine. And, he's lucky. It's much better for him to get out of this situation _now, _while they're still just kids than for it to go on and on for years....You do agree, don't you?"

"I just wish there were some other way, ma'am. Jack's a...difficult...young man, but I really think he cares for Bruce, and I don't think...."

"Please, Alfred! That..._boy_...had no business getting involved in Bruce's life to begin with, I should have been more proactive about this, and so should _you..._I can't believe this went on as long as it did without my knowledge...I _do_ count on you to give me a head's up when Bruce goes off kilter...."

"I...I'm sorry, Miss Miri, I just thought....."

"I know, I know, who would have thought a smart fellow like Bruce would be so easily led astray by such a...lost soul as Jack Ramsey, eh? Well, it'll be a learning experience for him, and you too, Alfred...he needs your guidance, don't ever forget that!"

"Yes, ma'am, I won't."

"All right. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

* * *

Some days passed; between demands on Bruce at the office and Jack's work schedule, the boys couldn't get any time together. Finally, they had a date planned for the evening, and Jack showed up at Wayne Manor as expected.

Bruce, however, was detained by a last minute phone conference he was asked to attend in Miri's absence--she had left early, saying she didn't feel well.

Alfred ushered Jack into the living room where Miriam was waiting.

"Look, I can just go on up and wait for Bruce in his room...." offered Jack, hoping he could escape the unpleasant company for now.

"No, sir," said Alfred firmly. "Actually, Mrs. Armstrong would like to have a word with you...."

"Aw, shit. What is this? You going to remind me what a sleazy piece of trash I am, messing with your boy? Sorry about that, but he doesn't seem to mind, so I suggest you figure out a way to get over it...." Jack sulkily proclaimed.

"Please sit down, Jack. We need to talk." Miriam gestured at the easy chair across from the couch where she was seated. Sighing, he reluctantly took the seat. Whatever Miriam had to say, he didn't want to hear it. He knew it would just make him mad.

"Look. I know you don't like me...." Jack began, trying to be calm.

"It's not that. You actually seem like a delightful young man. And I very much admire how you've overcome so many challenges in your life--losing your parents at such a young age, pulling yourself out of some legal difficulties, making excellent grades in school, working so diligently at your job and being on your own. You _have_ worked hard, haven't you, Jack? You've worked very hard indeed."

"So?"

"Bruce knows you've had a very hard life. He's well aware of the difficulties you've faced. He cares for you very much, I know that. You know that, too, don't you?"

"Look, lady, what are you getting at? Why isn't Bruce here? What's going on?" He looked entreatingly at Alfred, but the older man avoided his eyes.

"You are aware, aren't you, of Bruce's commitment to his future? How hard _he's_ been working? I don't know if he's explained all the expectations that are resting on his shoulders. I don't know if he's given you the full picture of what his future holds for him?"

"I know you're trying to rope him into being a desk jockey for the rest of his life, whether he likes it or not...."

"Well, that may be the way it appears. But there's much more to it than that. Do you know about Bruce's parents? About his father and what he did for the city of Gotham?"

"Uh...no, I just know they were murdered...."

"Yes, a horrendous tragedy, not just for Bruce and me personally, but for this amazing city. So much potential, so much work left unfinished. Thomas Wayne was bringing Gotham back to its former greatness, taking it back from organized crime and political corruption...he was working from the inside out, changing things, making the city a safe and productive place for decent people to live, and then his life was cut short, his work left to atrophy and die...Bruce is going to step into his shoes, Jack. He's going to turn this city around. Can you imagine how fantastic it's going to be? Can you envision a city like ours with an advocate like Bruce? " Miriam gazed at something beyond the room, her hands outstretched before her as though holding up a globe. Jack made a derisive sound.

"I just want Bruce to be happy. _You_ sound crazy. If you ask me, this town's a rat's nest inside a sinking ship, and it gets what it deserves. Why can't you leave Bruce alone? He wants to be with me, and I want to be with him, and that's all I care about."

"A rather selfish attitude, but understandable in one so young. We're fortunate that Bruce is wise beyond his years....Jack, you're not good for Bruce. Not now, and certainly not in the future. Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't. How can being happy be bad for him?"

"But, he's _not _happy. He's confused and worried about you. He knows things can't go on as they have been, but he doesn't want to hurt you. That's why he's not here right now, he couldn't bear to face you with what needs to be said."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jack--Bruce needs to end things with you. I know that sounds harsh, but let me explain...."

"Why can't you butt out?" Jack snarled as he stood, his fists balled up in barely controlled rage.

"Sit down, please. You need to hear what I have to say."

"NO! You're just trying to brainwash me, just like you're trying to do to Bruce, and I'm not going to sit here and--"

"Sit DOWN." The woman's voice was cold as steel and just as hard. Jack looked from her stony expression to Alfred's somber one and back again. He slowly lowered himself into the chair.

"Now. As I say, Bruce is very concerned for you. That's why he asked me to make this as easy as possible and to speak on his behalf. He wants you to have a better life. One in which you don't have to throw away your youth slaving away at a menial job, living in poverty. Bruce wants you to have this...." Miriam took an envelope and handed it to Jack.

"What the hell is this?"

"Open it, please."

Jack opened the envelope and pulled out a check. It was made out to him in the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was signed by Bruce, in his familiar hand.

Jack stared, uncomprehendingly.

"I don't understand...."

"That money's for you. A quarter of a million dollars. Take it, Jack. Use it to start a new life, a life that you can make into something meaningful...."

"What are you saying...."

"Bruce wants you to start over, somewhere else, somewhere you won't be tormented by your mistakes and regrets....Leave Gotham, Jack. You can go anywhere, even to another country! I've checked with the school, you should be able to finish with high school early and have no trouble being accepted into a fine school, get your education in any discipline you like--you'd be a wonderful engineer, an architect, even a doctor! Think of the possibilities...."

"You're trying to pay me off? You're trying to bribe me into leaving Bruce?" Jack asked incredulously.

"It's not me, Jack. It's _Bruce. _We've discussed this at some length, I thought half that much would be enough, but Bruce wanted to make sure you were taken care of. If that's not enough, however...."

"I don't want money! You must be crazy if you think I believe Bruce had anything to do with this...I want to talk to him," Jack pulled out his cell phone, a present from Bruce, and started to punch in his number.

"Please don't do that," Miriam cautioned.

"Oh, why not, afraid he'll tell me the truth?" Jack finished punching in the number only to find the phone no longer had service. He stared at it in consternation.

"Bruce wants a clean break. No talking, no recriminations. He was hoping you'd be clever enough to grasp the situation. He wants you to go home, pack your things and _leave. _Tonight." She leaned forward. _"Immediately."_

"That's bullshit, I don't...."

"I promised Bruce I'd make this easy on him. I was afraid his faith in you was misplaced. So, I'm going to explain what will happen if you don't go along with the plan."

"Don't go along...?" Jack felt a cold burst of fear in his stomach; Miriam Wayne Armstrong had money, privilege, and power, and he understood very well that there were things she could do, ways she could manipulate his life.

"If you don't leave this city within two hours, a police officer will appear. He'll find a..._substance_ stashed on your person. An illegal substance. You'll be taken to jail. You'll probably get out. This time. But, there will be a next time. And a next time. Before too long, you'll be sent to prison...I don't think an attractive boy like you would do well in prison, do you?" Miriam stared steadily at Jack.

"You're_...threatening _me?"

"I'm explaining the consequences of refusing to go along with Bruce's wishes."

"You're a fucking, lying bitch! Bruce would never do anything like this..."

"No, probably not. Not before."

"Before what?"

"Before he found out...about your father."

"My...father? What _about _my father?" Jack was bewildered.

"When I realized how fond Bruce had become of you, I decided to do a little research. Paving the way for the two of you, you know. Think about it, Jack...in Bruce's life, it's not inconceivable that he might run for public office someday. He'll certainly become a major figure in Gotham's world image. It wouldn't do for him to be close to someone with skeletons in their closet, right? I figured if we could discover any potential problems _now, _we could figure out a way to deal with them ahead of time, you understand? But...what I found out was...shocking. Very detrimental to Bruce's future."

"What in hell are you talking about? What does my _father_ have to do with it?" Jack pleaded in bewildered desperation. His mind was reeling.

"Where is your father today, Jack?" asked Miriam kindly.

"I have no fucking idea! He ditched my mom and me when I was eight years old, I never heard from him again!"

"Yes, well, that's not surprising. He left town for a while, then returned. He was a small time dope-dealer with ties to the mob. A very unsavory character. But...."

"I have nothing to do with any of that!"

"No, of course not. But how will it look--can you imagine the headlines? When it's discovered that your father was a sex offender...and a murderer?"

_"What?"_

"I'm so sorry to bring you this terrible news, Jack...but your father was John Phillip Ramsey, a serial killer that was apprehended three years ago with the body of a teenage girl in the trunk of his car. He was arrested, tried, and convicted of her rape and murder. While he was in prison, he confessed to two other similar murders that took place when he was in another state. It's probable that he was responsible for others, as well, although they could never prove it, a total of nine in all."

_"No...."_

"I'm afraid so, Jack. Here...." Miriam now handed Jack a folder with news clippings, a police photo and copy of a file document regarding John Ramsey's arrest and trial, plus several pictures of dead girls he had allegedly killed. Jack stared at the mug shot; it was unquestionably his father.

"No, it can't be true...my mom always said he met somebody else and left her to get married to another woman...."

"That may have been true at the time, but chances are he had already begun raping women while he was still with her. I'm sorry, Jack, I know this must be a shock...."

All three were silent for a moment as Jack numbly rifled through the file.

"It says here....he was killed in prison...." Jack finally whispered.

"Yes...he would have been put to death anyway, but apparently he got in a fight with another inmate and...well, you can read it for yourself. The point is...." Miriam leaned forward, speaking softly. "The point is, Bruce simply can't allow himself to be associated with someone like that. It's not fair, I know. Nothing about this is fair. But, that's the way it is, Jack. You're not good for Bruce, you can't stay in his life. He needs a clean slate, needs a spotless past as he rises in the supervision of Wayne Enterprises and goes on to take the helm. You can understand that, can't you?"

"No. I can't. I can't understand why...why you would do this to me, to him...we love each other, don't you see that? Don't you see that we're meant to be together?" Jack spoke brokenly, no longer able to hold his emotions in check, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I know this is hard. Bruce was devastated. He wanted me to tell you that...."

"I don't believe Bruce had anything to do with this!" Jack suddenly cried out.

"Why would his name be on the check, dear? Why would he have signed it?" asked Miriam gently.

"I...don't know," Jack said in a small voice, like a lost child.

"He couldn't bear to say goodbye. He knew he wouldn't be strong enough to carry through with this. You need to go, Jack. Go home, get your things, and leave town. Don't look back. There's nothing for you here. Just go." Miriam stood, placed a strong hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezed. He looked up at her.

"I...no! I can't leave him...I can't just go, I can't...."

"You have to, son. I meant what I said about the police...your life will become hell if you stay here. Don't ruin it. You have so much potential, and Bruce wouldn't want that for you. That's why he's giving you the money. He wants you to be well-taken care of."

Jack picked up the check and stared at it disbelievingly. He checked the signature again. There was no doubt--he'd seen Bruce's name as he scribbled it a thousand times. He'd even written it in ink on Jack's stomach one night, as a crude "tattoo"--"So they'll know who you belong to if you turn up dead one night," he'd explained, laughing--and his heart sank.

He stood up and numbly tore the check in half, then into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor.

"I don't want the money. I'll go." Jack pulled a chain from around his neck and handed it to Miriam. It had a little clown charm on it that Bruce had given him after the circus; he'd bought it as a joke, it was just a cheap child's trinket, but Jack had liked it so much that Bruce gave him a sterling silver chain to put it on, and Jack had worn it every day since.

"Give him this...and tell him...tell him I said goodbye." With that Jack turned and shuffled from the room, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Alfred heard the choked sob as the boy strode past him and for a moment he longed to call after him and tell him not to go, that he'd fix it up with Miriam and make it all right, but then he thought of Bruce's father and what he'd done and what he'd stood for, and then he thought of _Jack's_ father, and what _he'd _done, and what _he_ stood for, and he knew...he knew Miriam was acting in Bruce's best interests. He looked down, clasped his hands together and didn't utter a word.

Jack was mercifully numb, concentrating fully on putting one foot in front of the other and not running into doorways on his was back to his car. It was only after he was seated behind the wheel that the full impact of what had just taken place hit him, and a deep, wracking sob was torn from inside his gut. He lay his head on the steering wheel and allowed himself the luxury of crying unrestrained for a few moments.

Then, aware of the clock ticking his time away, he put the key in the ignition, revved the engine, and pulled out like a shot. That bitch Miriam was right. There was nothing for him here. There was nothing for him _anywhere, _but the thought of ending up in prison like his father terrified him. He had no choice. He'd go. He didn't know where, but he'd go. Since that was all he could do.

Since that's what Bruce wanted.


	18. Gone

**A/N: This is the last chapter with the boys as teens. The next chapter will have us jumping ahead several years! Thanks for reading, please review if you can!**

**Reeniecat**

* * *

Bruce finally extricated himself from the demands of Wayne Enterprises and drove back to the Manor. He didn't see Jack's car, and a frown crossed his face; his boyfriend should have been there already. Then he saw Aunt Miri's car and his frown deepened. Damn it. She had probably ragged Jack about something and pissed him off; he probably went back home and now Bruce would have to go fetch him and talk him out of a bad mood. He sighed resignedly as he pulled into the underground garage.

He strode into the living room and found Miriam and Alfred conversing quietly together; he gave them each an accusatory glare and asked "Where's Jack?"

Both of the elders were silent for a moment, then Miriam answered gently, "He's gone, Bruce."

"Gone? Where'd he go? What did you say to him, Aunt M? I know you don't approve of our relationship, but I really wish you wouldn't upset him when I'm not even around to defend him. He's...."

"He's GONE, darling. He's left Gotham. He won't be back." Miriam spoke firmly but kindly. Alfred avoided his charge's eyes.

Bruce stared uncomprehendingly at his aunt.

"What..._the hell_...do you mean?"

"Please sit down. Please, I need to talk to you," Miriam entreated. Numbly, Bruce did as she asked.

"Now, I know this will be very difficult to hear, and I know it will be very painful for you to understand. But it really is for the best, it really, really is...."

_"Just tell me what you're talking about! _Alfred, do _you _know what she's talking about? Would somebody please just tell me what's going on?"

"I'm going to tell you, dear, I'm just...I'm just trying to soften the blow. But very well, your..._friend_ came here and was very upset that you weren't already home. I tried to calm him down and I asked him what was the matter. He said...he said he was in trouble. Very serious trouble."

"I don't understand, what kind of trouble?"

"Oh, dear. This really is so difficult. Bruce, your...Jack has been dabbling with drugs for a while now. He started selling them to boost his income. Apparently, he made a bad deal and owes quite a bit of money to a very dangerous man. So, he was going to ask you to loan it to him."

Bruce stared at his aunt, his mouth hanging open. His first thought was to utterly reject her nonsensical story. But then, he began to think...he was fairly certain he had smelled marijuana on Jack's clothes more than once lately; he seemed to have some cash to spare, buying tickets to the circus and such. He was so determined to make it on his own, and Bruce knew he wouldn't ever admit it if he _did _fall into a bad spot and resorted to making "easy money". Bruce had seen some of the characters that hung out at Jack's rooming house and it wasn't difficult to imagine the scenario....

"I'd give him the money, Miri, anything. Anything he wanted...." Bruce spoke in an almost daydream-y manner as though he were far away....

"Yes, dear, of course you would. And that's the problem. A man like Jack's dealer knows a boy like him couldn't come up with ten thousand dollars, cash, overnight. He'd become suspicious. He'd make inquiries--before long, he'd figure out that Bruce Wayne, _heir to the Wayne fortune, _was close to Jack. And anything could happen--blackmail, kidnapping, _anything--_I had to explain all this to Jack." The strong businesswoman pushed a strand of gray hair out of her face, then reached over to grasp Bruce's shoulder in support.

"Once he realized the risk, he was very concerned. Honestly, Bruce, he cares for you so much. He didn't want to take a chance on bringing harm to you. And if he stayed here without giving back the money, he would be kil...well, who knows what they would do to him. So, I gave him some money, I told him to leave and not to look back. I knew that was what you would want. To allow him to start over somewhere they wouldn't find him." Bruce's piercing eyes wouldn't leave Miriam's face and she held his gaze unflinchingly.

"He was very upset, of course. He didn't want to leave you. But...he did it _for _you, Bruce, can't you see that? Because he didn't want anything to happen to you. It was...noble, really. And, with the money I gave him, he can start over somewhere else, take a new name, a new identity....I know you wouldn't want him to get hurt, either. So, you understand that this is for the best, don't you? Difficult though it is? Bruce?" Her nephew had finally broken his gaze and was staring dumbly at the carpet, absently clenching and unclenching his hands. Suddenly, he cast his dark eyes back at his aunt in fury.

"I don't believe you," he hissed angrily. "I don't believe Jack would leave without saying anything to me, without telling me what was going on...I think you sent him away, Miri, I think you...."

"Bruce...." she said sadly. "He _did _want to say goodbye, he _did_ want to see you one last time...he waited as long as he could, but he had no time. They were after him, you see. He was desperate...and he told me...he told me to tell you he loves you. And, to give you this." Miriam took Bruce's hand, turned it so it was open, and dropped the clown charm into his palm.

Bruce gazed at the trinket for a long moment. Then an animal-like cry was torn from deep inside him and he gasped as tears began to flow down his cheeks.

Alfred stood and walked from the room, unable to watch his young employer's heartbreak play out in front of him.

Miriam moved close to Bruce and wrapped her arms around her only relative, allowing him to sob into her shoulder. This was turning out to be more difficult than she had envisioned, in fact, it was very difficult indeed.

But, it was for the best. Of that, she had no doubt. When Bruce finally shook her off, stood, and angrily wiped away the tears, she had a surge of hope. Perhaps he was coming to accept things as they were. Perhaps he would soon be ready to move on....

Wordlessly, Bruce turned on his heel and headed toward the garage.

"Bruce! Where are you going, it's very late!" Miriam chided.

Without turning, Bruce shouted gruffly, "I'm going to find Jack! And I'm going to bring him here, home, where he belongs!"

Miriam also stood and watched as the tall, well-built young man strode away.

She was a master of negotiation, and also of timing. She seriously doubted Jack was still within the city limits.

* * *

Bruce tried calling Jack's cell phone, but there was no answer; he drove rapidly to Jack's ramshackle house and parked in front. He ran upstairs to his room; the door was ajar, and he strode inside, calling "Jack!"; but there was nothing but the crummy furniture that came with the place and signs of someone leaving in a hurry; drawers pulled open, discarded papers and left-behind items of no consequence strewn around the room. Bruce took in the scene, then hurried downstairs again; a man had been sitting on the front stoop and Bruce hoped he would have some information.

Ben was in a groggy state, but he gazed up at the dark-haired young man when he loomed before him.

"Hey--I know you...you're that kid's friend, aren't ya? That kid from upstairs?"

"Yeah, that's right. I'm looking for him, do you know where he went?"

Ben wavered back and forth for a moment, considering, then lost his train of thought.

"Uh...huh? What did you say?" he finally asked.

"I said, _where's Jack?" _Bruce reiterated as calmly as he could.

"Oh! Yeah, him...uh...he flew out of here like a bat out of hell....shit, he didn't say nothing to me, I don't know where the hell he was off to...."

Bruce nodded, and started off down the steps.

"Hey, pal, I don't suppose you'd like to buy some weed, huh? I've got some pretty good stuff, I could give ya a sample if you want...."

Bruce stopped and almost went back to try to force more information from the mind-altered drug-addict, but quickly realized that he wasn't in any condition to help. Bruce turned and jumped back in his car.

He drove to the mechanic's shop where Jack worked. He noticed Erroll, the owner, was working late in his office. Bruce strode in and stood in the doorway. The shop owner looked up and smiled.

"Well, hey there! You're that friend of Jack's, right?"

Bruce just nodded. Then he asked brokenly, "Have you seen him?" The man nodded emphatically.

"Oh, yeah, listen, you missed him. He came by earlier, gave notice and asked for his final paycheck."

"He did? Did he say anything?"

"Yeah, he said he was leaving town and wouldn't be back. Thanked me for giving him work, and I said, hey, I thanked HIM for being such a big help around here. Kid's got a sixth sense about engines, I never saw anything like it. He's got a great future ahead of him, hope he knows what he's doin'. Didn't he tell you he was leaving?"

Bruce silently shook his head, turned, and walked back to the car, leaving the man puzzled. Kids these days, just not thinking about the future....

Bruce drove aimlessly; he thought of calling Jim and asking if his dad could do something to help him track down Jack, but if there was a chance that he really was in trouble for drugs, he didn't want to risk putting him on the police radar. He wracked his brain trying to think of anyone or anything else that might give him a clue as to his plans, but there was nothing.

He and Jack. There _was_ no one else.

Bruce drove the streets and highways of Gotham until dawn began to break. He gave up on trying to outwit his lover and just went on instinct, hoping against hope to spot his car somewhere, anywhere. Finally, exhausted and broken in spirit, he went home, although there was nothing there he wanted. He would have gladly left everything behind and walked until he dropped if it meant he could be with Jack. He drove into the garage, put his head on the steering wheel and sobbed.

* * *


	19. Somewhere in Gotham

**A/N: Hello, I am so sorry this took so long to be updated. I finished my other fic ("Don't Joke With Me") and was a little sad about that, plus this one was hard to pick up again because I'd left it at such a depressing point. Also--sad news--some of you might have known another author in this fandom named Jokerluv. She was a wonderful person and was always generous and thoughtful with her reviews. She used to give me a kick in the rear when I took too long to update this particular story and I always appreciated that. I found out through posts on Live Journal that she passed away back in June. This was shocking to me, and I had kind of a hard time with it. So, this chapter and the rest of this story is dedicated to Jokerluv, also known as CC. I really miss her.**

**Ok, now on to the story and an explanation of where we are. Ten years have passed since Jack disappeared. Bruce finished high school and went to college; from there, his story basically followed the events of "Batman Begins," although liberties may be taken and not follow canon exactly.**

**It is now about a year after Bruce returned from the dead and he is head of Wayne Enterprises by day and working against the criminal element in Gotham as Batman by night. While this is totally Nolanverse, it will NOT follow the events of The Dark Knight, I guess you could say it is AU. Please let me know if this is confusing or if you would like further explanations. BTW, this chapter focuses a good bit on Rachel, but it is mostly to establish some background info. More B&J in the next one....**

**Thanks so much for reading, and please tell me what you think!!**

***************

Bruce Wayne sat in the bat cave staring at the computer monitor. He'd run through the security footage twice at normal speed and was now going frame by frame, looking for something, anything, that might trigger some thought or idea that could prove useful in the case that Jim Gordon had brought to him, as Batman.

Alfred came up behind his employer, bearing a small tray with a glass of wine and a snack of fruit and cheese. Master Wayne had been down there quite a while and was in grave danger of starving to death, in his opinion, but he knew better than to urge him upstairs for a proper dinner. He quietly set the tray down next to Bruce and prepared to leave as unnoticed as possible, but Bruce waved him back.

"Take a look at this, will you? What do you think?"

Alfred put on his reading glasses and leaned over to look at the screen. Bruce ran the footage back to the point where the robbers had noisily crashed their way into the bank, five of them, all wearing clown masks, and he reduced the speed to "slow." Alfred watched the precision of the men's technique, each playing a particular role, each armed, and each attuned to the situation at hand. The clock indicated they were in and out with their target--several bags of money--in less than ten minutes.

After the viewing, Alfred peered at Bruce over the top of his glasses.

"How'd you get hold of this, sir?"

"Jim Gordon gave it to me. Well, to Batman."

"Really? You've certainly won him over."

"I guess. So, what did you think?"

"Other than the very beautifully decorated masks and the smoothness of the operation, what about this little bit o' larceny is worthy of Batman's attention?"

"This." Bruce reached under a stack of papers and fished out a clear evidence bag containing a single playing card--the Joker. He held it up for Alfred's inspection.

"Forgive my obtuseness. sir, but I fail to detect anything ominous about a playing card."

"I know. It's just that one of these has shown up at three separate heists within the last month. It's become a pattern. Jim's afraid it's the sign of a new gang coming to town. One that might try to take on the mob. He's foreseeing gang wars, lots of violence, bloodshed...."

"Has anyone been hurt so far?"

"By this bunch? No. They're in and out so fast and they have it so well-planned, they've only shot their guns for the shock effect. But, that doesn't mean they won't kill if they have to. I don't know if I share Jim's concerns, but I do have a funny feeling about these guys."

"Well, they are clowns, eh, sir?" grinned Alfred.

Bruce shot him an annoyed glare.

"Yeah. I _hate_ clowns," the billionaire stated flatly.

*******

The Joker stalked around the side of the van and let his henchmen out of the back. They each carried a canvas bag full of money and, laughing and whooping, headed into the formerly deserted old farm house on the outskirts of town, congratulating themselves on a job well done.

"Hey, boss, can we order pizza tonight?" one of them asked hopefully.

"They don't deliver out here, genius," the head clown condescendingly reminded him in the nasal, high-pitched tone they were so accustomed to hearing. "But, one of you fine fellows can go back into town and pick some up, if you like."

"_IF you're even capable of such a complex task,"_ he irritably thought to himself, as he surveyed the damage inflicted on the side of the van where one of his team had inadvertently shot a hole through it, in his enthusiasm for the job.

More shouts of excitement and the four thugs settled into the ramshackle living room, turned on the TV to watch for news coverage of their exploits, and one of them brought out copious amounts of beer from the refrigerator. The Joker watched the scene for a moment, shaking his head slowly. They were so..._stupid. _A little pizza, a lot of booze, and they would do anything. Oh, that and their share of a several hundred thousand dollar haul. He resisted the urge to pull his pistol out of his waistband and shoot them all dead, just so he wouldn't have to listen to them getting drunk. But, expendable though they were, they at least had the routine down, and he didn't relish having to train up another bunch so soon. He still had lots of uses for them.

One man was hovering over the money bags, which had been collected on the dining room table, and the Joker then _did _take out his gun and shot just to the right of the man's head. He froze and carefully felt the side of his face, then sighed in relief at finding himself intact. He looked inquiringly at his boss.

"It's not that I don't _trust _you, pal, but get _away_ from the cash. I'll dole it out soon enough," the boss explained smoothly. The man nodded, gingerly stepped away and gratefully headed to the couch to rejoin his comrades, who had already recovered from the shock of hearing a gunshot right behind them--it wasn't all that unusual--and were back to laughing and cutting up.

The Joker sat down at the table and began thoughtfully sorting through the bills. He divided the booty into two halves, then divided one half into five equal parts. The first half was "seed" money, to keep their little operation going. The other parts were for the men to do with as they pleased, including himself.

Money alone didn't interest him, he knew how to live without it. It was the _effect_ money had on people that was so...fascinating. So..._useful._

The Joker took out a cigarette and lit up, then rubbed absently at the red paint covering one of his scars. _Money. _His mind wandered, as it still did sometimes, even after all these years, to thoughts of Bruce Wayne.

He wondered what the rich, self-absorbed playboy bastard was doing with all _his_ money these days. His eyes followed a tendril of smoke as it wafted toward the ceiling.

Maybe it was finally time to pay him a visit.

* * *

Rachel Dawes was packing boxes. If she was going to move in with her boyfriend, Harvey Dent, she might as well start getting things ready. He'd been bugging her non-stop ever since she had weakly agreed to the idea, and she supposed it was time to show him she had indeed been serious when she finally gave in to his impassioned request. Even though the thought of living with another person, even Harvey, caused her stress level to soar.

It wasn't that she didn't want their relationship to move forward. It was just that...everything felt so unsettled. She loved him, she knew she did, but was it a "spend the rest of our lives together" kind of love? Probably, maybe, but at the moment, she couldn't even face the thought of paying a pet deposit so she could get a cat. Her career was so demanding and exciting that it took all her energy, and she knew Harvey had hopes of having children someday...the idea of making such life-altering decisions was terrifying to her. Still, she liked the idea of being part of a full-time, mutually committed couple for once in her life.

His apartment was much nicer anyway. And, it wasn't as if Bruce Wayne was ever going to come swooping through her window to carry her away to his new penthouse.

That bat had flown, she thought grimly.

She pulled a fat manila envelope out of a box she had never gotten around to unpacking the first time she moved out of her parent's house and looked at it, puzzled. She had written "Bruce" on the front of it, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what was in it. Rachel opened the flap and a tart, chemical smell wafted out as she peered in to see smaller envelopes, the kind that drugstores put freshly developed photos in.

Oh, yes. She remembered now. High school. Photos of her and Bruce and the gang. These were duplicates she had had made, intending to give them to him before they headed off to college, but somehow she'd never thought to do it....Memories of the time after she realized that Bruce had abandoned her came flooding back and she put the envelope aside, determined to push her feelings back into the part of her heart where she was accustomed to stuffing them when she just couldn't face the pain.

But...after a moment, she picked it up again and pulled out a photo pack and began flipping through the images. Shots of her and Bruce, smiling, with their arms around each other, at some school outing during their sophomore year. Others, with friends at the lake, at games, Bruce in his football uniform. Standing by his new car. On their way to a Halloween party. The prom--him so handsome in his tux, her in her beautiful gown. The perfect couple. Such promise, so many hopes and dreams.

It had all turned to shit after their senior year, and she still didn't understand.

She picked up another photo, and the memories came flooding back. It was late summer and they had all gone to the lake, she and Bruce, Harvey and Cindy, and Jack Ramsey.... She herself had taken the picture--Harvey and Cindy cuddled on a blanket watching in amusement as a swim suit-clad Bruce and Jack mugged for the camera. Jack--she examined the photo more carefully. The blond boy was holding a beer just out of Bruce's reach and the dark-haired teen was playfully trying to take it away from him, one arm hooked around Jack's waist, the other reaching for the bottle, and they were laughing and smirking at each other as though sharing a private joke. It had been hilarious, but now she frowned at the image.

Bruce's and her relationship had changed many times. The first had been after he and Jack had became such good friends, when he suddenly seemed never to have much time for her anymore. That had never made sense to her. Jack had always seemed like such a hard case, so odd and different from the rest of them. Bruce had started out feeling sorry for him, she supposed, then came to like and understand and enjoy him, sentiments that neither she nor Harvey had ever shared, although Jack definitely had a kind of weird charm and engaging personality if you could ever get him to drop his defenses for a minute or two.

The second time had been after Jack disappeared. Bruce had taken that very hard, to the point where his very personality had changed. He became strangely withdrawn, easily upset and serious. He rarely went out with anyone in his circle of friends, not even bothering to offer lame excuses, just silently walking the school hallways with a blank expression, but Rachel could see the pain he carried as clearly as if it were a snake coiled around his neck. No amount of offers to talk, to listen, or just to be with him, could penetrate the shield he put up around himself.

But then, months later, everything changed. A look in his eyes she had never seen before presaged a newfound attitude of dissoluteness. Bruce bought a motorcycle, was reported to be seen hanging around the pool hall downtown, drinking heavily. It was rumored he was even using marijuana, and somehow, instead of being horrified, she found herself perversely drawn to this new, suddenly dangerous streak in the boy she thought she knew so well.

Bruce began pursuing her in earnest, but hardly in a romantic fashion. He had become crude in his language and made it clear that what he wanted from her had nothing to do with being chaste high school sweethearts again. Repulsed at first, then intrigued, she had allowed herself to be roughly seduced by him on the couch in the den at Wayne Manor. They had quickly spiraled into a sex-driven affair so hot she'd been thrown completely for a loop, wondering what the hell had happened to the innocent girl she had meant to remain until marriage.

Then, abruptly, things changed again. Bruce seemed to come to himself, spending as much time with her as possible, talking to her about his fears, the pain he was in, his guilt over his parent's death, his obligations to his father's legacy and the impossible expectations he was trying to fulfill as a leader at Wayne Enterprises under his aunt's tutorage. He even began talking of marriage after college, and she'd been so happy....

Then, Bruce went away to Princeton, and Rachel stayed behind and went to State on a full scholarship. At first, they had corresponded regularly, long phone calls on weekends, little notes in the mail, presents...then, things seemed to cool between them. He had returned home for the trial of the man who'd killed his parents, and Rachel had hoped she could sit down and talk to him, figure out what was wrong between them, only to find that he had become withdrawn again and didn't even plan to return to school.

Then, he'd just disappeared. Like Jack. No one heard from him, no one had any idea where he'd gone or why. The years passed and he was finally declared dead. Rachel's heart was broken, but she'd turned her sorrow into determination and gotten her law degree, then focused on helping her city and doing what she could to make it a better place, just as she thought Bruce would want her to.

She'd gotten a job in the DA's office and worked her way up to Assistant DA. Harvey and Cindy had drifted apart, and he'd ended up attending the same law school that Rachel did. They found themselves chatting amiably in hallways, stopping to get coffee together, comparing notes on classes they both attended. They found comfort in each other, which led to the fruition of a physical attraction they had always had for each other, and Rachel grabbed onto the possibility of falling in love again. After graduation, she had been thrilled when Harvey decided to stay in Gotham and work in Internal Affairs.

Seven years later, to Rachel's joy, Bruce returned, but she soon found he was a completely different man. They had tried, briefly, to rekindle the sparks that had once flown between them, but they realized that whatever they had once shared was now far overshadowed by Bruce's new focus and maturity, his determination to fight crime and the alter ego he had created in order to do so. And Harvey waited patiently for her to decide between them.

And here they were, a year later, and their relationship had evolved again. It was now a warm but strictly non-romantic friendship based on mutual respect and caring, and nothing more...they were two people with a shared past looking toward two very different futures. Still, the pain Rachel felt over the end of their long-ago love affair and the loss of what could have been had never completely gone away.

Maybe it never would.


	20. Target Practice

**A/N: I'm sorry to take so long to update, I've been traveling a bit.**

* * *

Rachel entered the bar on 42cnd Street and spotted Bruce, already seated at a table with a drink in his hand. She made her way over to him, and he rose to hug her. They both took their seats and a waiter came by immediately to take her order. She was always impressed with the great service she received when she was in the company of Bruce Wayne.

"Rum and coke, please," Rachel said.

"And, I'll take another," Bruce added, holding up his glass. The waiter smiled big, anticipating a big tip, nodded and headed back to the bar.

"So! You're looking wonderful, as usual," Bruce said, smiling.

"Oh, thanks, you too. How are you?"

"Doing fine, just fine. And you?"

"Great! Really great. I'm in the middle of a really interesting case, and...." Rachel launched into a rundown of how busy she'd been at work, and the two amiably chatted about their work for a while. They fell silent, then Rachel began speaking again.

"Oh, and I have some news...."

Bruce raised his eyebrows in interest. "What's that?"

They paused in their conversation as their drinks arrived. After the waiter departed, Rachel continued.

"Well...Harvey has asked me to move in with him, and...I said yes." Rachel watched a shadow pass over Bruce's face before he collected himself enough to give a wooden smile.

"Really? Well...congratulations! Things are...pretty serious, then, between you two?"

"Yes, yes, they are." Rachel nodded vigorously in emphasis. They sat quietly for a long moment, then Bruce spoke again.

"Are you...are you sure, Rachel? Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Of course! What a thing to say...Harvey and I have been, you know, seeing each other for a long time now. It's time."

"But..." Bruce bit his lip thoughtfully. He probably should keep his mouth shut. Still...he went ahead and spoke.

"Are you really _sure_ things between _us_ are--"

"Oh, come on, Bruce! We're _friends, _that's all, you know that. We want different things, you've made that very clear. I thought I had, too...."

"I know. But, things won't always be this way. If you could just give me some time...."

"_Time! _It's been _years! _Please, don't do this. You've made your choices, and I've made mine. I can't...I can't wait forever. I've made Harvey wait too long as it is, it's not fair...."

"But...."

"No buts, Bruce. Please. Just be happy for me. And, I want you to be happy, too. You need to decide what you want and go after it. Just know, it can't be me. Not anymore."

They sat looking at each other, and Rachel could see the pain in Bruce's eyes. It was tempting, tempting as _hell_, to say something else, to make some sort of vague promise, but she knew better. She stayed silent. Finally, Bruce nodded.

"All right. You've made your decision, and I respect that. I just wish...I wish...."

"Enough, Bruce. Really." Rachel glanced around them; there was only one other person near their table and he was engrossed in a newspaper. She leaned forward and spoke so that only Bruce could hear.

"As long as Gotham needs you, needs--you know--_him_--then _that's_ your choice. I know that. And there's really no place for me in that scenario." She leaned back and stared meaningfully at the man she knew to be Batman.

Bruce sighed. She was right, of course. He was grasping at straws, lost, still trying to hang on to what little bit of happiness from his past that he could. It was foolish and cruel in a way, he knew. Rachel needed to move on with her life, and he needed to do the same. He just didn't have a clue as to how to go about it.

A thought came to Rachel, and she began digging around in her handbag.

"Oh, hey, before I forget, I have something for you...." Rachel brought out the brown envelope with the photos and handed them to Bruce.

"What's this?" he asked, puzzled.

"Pictures. From high school. I came across it when I was packing. I meant to give them to you a _long_ time ago, but...well, it's a good thing I didn't, since you lost everything in the fire. Now, at least, you'll have a few mementos of our youth." She was smiling now. "There's a bunch of you and me, and Harvey and Jim, just everybody. Oh, and Jack. There's a few of Jack in there...." She didn't know why she felt the need to emphasize that, but she found herself watching for Bruce's reaction to the name. He only looked up at her, then set the envelope on the table.

"Sounds like I better wait 'til I'm good and drunk before I get into these," he said with a rueful grin. "I don't do well with nostalgia, you know."

"Yeah, some of them got to me, too. But...it's who we were, isn't it? And, it was so long ago....Listen, I've got a million things to do, I better get a move on. How about I give you a call next week and we can have lunch? You can show me which shots you're going to use as blackmail material."

They laughed, and stood to hug each other goodbye.

Neither of them noticed the man at the other table with his hair tucked under a ball cap and a neck scarf pulled up around his mouth. He peered over the top of the paper and watched the two go their separate ways and a small grin played over his scarred lips.

He'd heard every word they'd said.

* * *

Bruce headed home. He'd only had two drinks at the bar, and he had a feeling he needed a few more--several more--a LOT more--in the safety and comfort of his own home.

Hearing Rachel's news had hit him hard and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he ever seriously envisioned her as a romantic partner anymore. It wasn't even that he was jealous of Harvey. It was just that...he was jealous of what they _had. _Romance, companionship, someone to go to a movie with, to plan a vacation with...a future. A future _together. _

He didn't have that, probably never did, not really. Jack...hearing Rachel say his name had cut into his heart like a knife, and now, as he pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse, he felt the familiar pain once again.

He'd never gotten over losing Jack. The heartache, the bewilderment, the questions, still welled up in him at the drop of a hat, just as they had all along. He'd just spent so many years fighting--_learning _to fight, fighting other men, fighting evil, fighting _himself_--he'd managed to lock up those thoughts and feelings somewhere deep inside. It was only lately that he'd begun to allow them to come to the surface, just a little.

Only lately had he begun to allow himself to think about Jack.

He headed up to his bedroom and shut the door. He lay down on the bed and held the large envelope in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he reached in and pulled out a package of photos and began flipping through them. Him and Rachel, him and Harvey...they'd been so innocent, they'd had so much fun in those early days...then he came upon a shot of Jack. He was standing alone, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and beaten-up jeans, the wind blowing his blond hair around his face, and he was smiling that smart-ass, knowing smile that Bruce knew so well. He stared at the picture and felt his throat tightening. He abruptly slipped it back into the envelope and threw the whole thing on a shelf on his nightstand. He didn't need this. He didn't need memories. He didn't need to be reminded of what he'd once had and what he had lost--and what he would never find again, he supposed.

Bruce got up, changed into jeans and a t-shirt and went downstairs to get as drunk as he possibly could.

* * *

_"Bruce..._Bruce Wayne...Brucie, Brucie-boy...B-B-B-_Bruce_. Old buddy, old pal, Bruce. Bruce baby. Bruce _Wayne. _It sure was nice to see you again, Mr. Wayne.

"Good ol' Brucie, Mr. Society Page, Mr. Billionaire Playboy, Brrruce, Bruce Wayne, head of Wayne Enterprises, chairman of the illustrious Wayne Found-_a_-tion. Bruce Wayne, rumored to be engaged to two, count 'em, _two _supermodels at once, Mr. Wayne, former resident of Wayne Manor, Master Bruce, Master Wayne...." The Joker obsessively turned the thoughts and images over and over in his mind, occasionally muttering a few words out loud, other times letting loose with a sudden fit of giggles.

Mr. Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne, whose dick he had been happy to suck, let's see, how many times? Too many to count. How many times had he lain under that handsome dark-haired boy, his legs wrapped around his waist as he...? Mmm, good times, good times...and so long ago.

He was _his_ Bruce, then.

And now...there was Rachel! Ms. Assistant DA, Rachel Dawes. Brucie's former squeeze, now in the arms of Harvey Dent. Hmm. Ah ha ha, the look in his eyes when she told him....

The Joker reloaded his pistol. He was standing several yards from a low stone fence in the back area of the old farm, cheerfully engaged in a little target practice, the line of cans and bottles almost entirely shattered or blown holes through, with one of his henchmen tied to a chair and positioned in the middle, uselessly shrieking every time a bullet went whizzing past his ears. Thomas, his right-hand man, helpfully added fresh targets as directed. Some were placed on the man's head, others on his shoulders.

The Joker was a very good shot.

He continued to pick off the targets until he grew bored.

"All right, Tommy, untie 'im. Time for a little more of a challenge...." Thomas did as he was told and the scared-shitless clown desperately tore out of the chair, hoping to make it back to the house before--

The Joker's first shot got him in the thigh and he went down with a chilling scream of pain.

"You'll have to do better than that, pal. You're no fun, no fun at all...." The Joker gave the wounded man a few seconds to scramble painfully to his feet and attempt to limp hurriedly away. He was frantically pleading with his boss to let him go, that he wouldn't do it again, it was all a mistake, please, please don't kill--

The head clown let him make a few yards and then popped him in the shoulder. Another heart-rending scream broke the stillness of the evening countryside as the hot lead projectile tore through the man's collarbone.

"What do you think, Thomas? Has he learned his lesson?" the Joker asked conversationally. The other man smiled in a sick manner and gleefully shook his head "no".

"Very well." Another bullet found its way into the man's other arm, blowing flesh away from bone. The shrieking soon turned again into a garbled litany of pleas and promises as the man vainly attempted to haul himself upright so he could take flight.

"Honestly, the human body hardly provides any challenge at all!" said the Joker in disgust. The man had fallen to his hands and knees and was trying to crawl away. His boss strode up to him, grabbed his "good" arm and yanked him to his feet. The look in his victim's eyes was one of complete fear and desperation.

"So, what was that you were sayin'? Something about you'll never steal from me again, hmm? Was that it?"

The henchman nodded, a glimmer of hope beginning to take hold in his mind as the Joker spoke soothingly.

"Well, that's good. That's real good. Glad to hear it. Ok, no more bullets. It's all right, go on inside. Get Mac to fix you up, he's good with a needle." The Joker stuck the pistol in the waistband of his slacks and stepped back.

The man wheezed a pathetic thanks, and began limping pitifully toward the house. Thomas came to stand beside his boss and the two watched the wounded criminal make his way to the door. He had just lifted his arm in agony and put his shaking hand on the handle when the Joker called, "Oh, hey, one more thing!" at the last minute.

The man turned and a knife with a four-inch blade came hurtling through the air, sticking him in the chest all the way to the hilt. His last moments were spent in gazing at the Joker with a bewildered expression on his face as he slumped slowly to the ground.

"You were right, old man. You _won't_ do it again," said the Joker with a satisfied smile.

He yanked his weapon from his target, wiped the blood on the man's shirt and stepped around the body to go inside.

"Clean that up, will you, Tommy?" he called behind him.

"Yes, yes sir!" said Thomas Schiff, happy to have another job to do.

The Joker snickered, thinking again of the expression on Bruce's face as he sat across from Rachel at the bar.

Gotham had taken Bruce Wayne away from him. Now, he would soon be taking Gotham. But, first, he'd have a little personal fun with the heartbroken Mr. Wayne.

He settled himself in front of the computer and looked up Rachel Dawes' home address.

* * *

**Please review!! Thank you!**


	21. Popcorn

**A/N: I'm sorry that this is short, but I wanted to update more promptly than I have been. This is more plot development, but Bruce will meet the Joker in the next chapter, I promise!! Thank you for reading!!**

*******

Bruce returned home after a brutal day of negotiations with a foreign supply firm. The glow from the triumphant moment when he had broken through their stony refusal to bring the price down was still with him, and he was looking forward to telling Alfred all about the tense interplay. But when he stepped through the front door, Alfred immediately greeted him with a frown and a worried tone of voice.

"Master Wayne--"

"Afternoon, Alfred. What's wrong?"

"Well--something unusual happened today."

"Unusual good or unusual bad?" asked Bruce, feeling sure he knew the answer.

"Ah, well, I don't know--I can't imagine that it will be good, though."

"What happened?"

"I was working upstairs all afternoon, and when I came down for a break a few minutes ago, I went to the den to watch some television. And--this was sitting in front of it." Alfred gestured for him to follow and pointed at a small square package wrapped in crinkled white butcher paper and wrapped with twine. Bruce stood in front of it, leaned down and saw that a "Joker" playing card with the name "Bruce Wayne" written in old-fashioned type along the side was attached to the string.

Bruce looked up at Alfred. "You haven't touched it?"

Alfred shook his head emphatically.

"Did you check the security footage?"

"Yes, sir, I did that straightaway, but found that the system had been disabled. I checked throughout the house, though, and no one seems to be in hiding."

Bruce frowned at him. "You should have left the house immediately. Someone could have been--"

Alfred sniffed as though insulted. "I _was_ armed, sir. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, as you Yanks like to say." Bruce decided to let it go.

"Was there any sign of forced entry, anything besides the package left behind?"

"No sir, nothing that I could find."

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course, they're on their way right now."

At that moment, a knock came at the door and Alfred hurried to answer it.

Jim Gordon was standing there.

"Alfred," he nodded. He turned to look at his friend. "All right Bruce--what's going on?"

"Lieutenant Gordon himself!" grinned Bruce in welcome. "This must be big!"

"Well, Alfred said you had a possible explosive device--"

"I said 'bomb,' actually..." corrected Alfred.

"Yes...well, the bomb squad's right behind me, but let me take a look at the, uh, object."

Gordon strode in and Bruce led him to the package. All three men peered at it for a long moment, and all three started when they heard the men from the bomb squad hustle in through the still-open front door.

They stood aside as the experts carefully examined the package without touching it, running a hand-held scanner over it, checking it for radiation emissions, and listening to it with a stethoscope. Now confident that there was no immediate danger, Ron, the head man, picked it up and shook it, making the two civilians cringe.

"I'll take it outside and open it," he said and headed out to the specially equipped van.

Jim, Alfred and Bruce stood at the door and watched. After a few moments, Ron returned with the box and the torn paper in a large evidence bag.

"All clear. Up to you guys, now." He indicated Gordon with a nod of his head.

"Thank you, son." He glanced in the box through the plastic, then looked at Bruce. "Would you like to meet me at the MCU?"

"Uh...sure, but why?"

"There appears to be a DVD in here, and as soon as I have the lab collect evidence, I intend to sit down and watch it. Since it has your name on it, I thought you might like to be at the premiere, too."

"I'll bring popcorn."

"Great. I'll give you a call when it's ready."

Bruce nodded and watched Jim walk to his squad car and drive off.

_What the hell could be on that DVD? _he wondered.

***

Bruce sat next to Gordon in a small viewing room with a large screen TV. Jim popped the disc into the player and fiddled with the remote until a grainy image flickered onto the screen. Jim settled in and both men remained silent as a figure in a rumpled suit jacket strode into view, his back to the camera. They could see the man had long, stringy hair with a green cast to it, and he held himself in an awkward, hunched posture. He was saying something to someone off-screen which they couldn't make out. Then, he slowly turned to the camera and both men recoiled slightly.

The white face paint was as solid as a mask, the red lipstick garishly outstanding, and the black rings around his eyes rendered them skull-like and dead. He had a copy of the "Gotham Daily News" in hand and stood silently scanning it for a moment, as if he had all the time in the world. He finally turned the page toward the camera--the visual was of poor quality and they couldn't tell what the images were--but his face dissolved into a broad grin and he broke into humorless laughter.

"This message goes to Bruce _Wayne. _My, my, so many of your ladies have been paraded across the society pages--a new one every week! Gosh, Bruce, do you care about _any _of 'em? Doesn't look like it...but, here's one you seem to have feelings for--"

A woman was thrust into view, and the Joker grabbed her with one arm, pulled out a pistol and pressed the muzzle against her throat. Her hair and eyes were wild, her hands were bound behind her, and a large white cloth was tied over her mouth as a gag, covering her entire face below the nose.. A "smile" had been scrawled on it in what appeared to be lipstick. She struggled, but the man had a strong grip on her and her efforts only seemed to amuse him. They could hear him saying something unintelligible to her, but whatever it was, it made her eyes widen and she visibly forced herself to still her movements.

"Recognize her? Oh, uh, maybe this will help..."

Horrified, Bruce had known instantly who she was, but his fears were confirmed when the Joker yanked the cloth down past the woman's chin, and both he and Jim gasped as the rest of her face was revealed.

"Bruce! Don't listen to him, he's crazy, just--" Rachel managed to blurt out before the Joker interrupted.

"That's enough, doll-face." He unceremoniously shoved her out of frame and they could hear her yelp as she was dragged away.

The Joker smoothed his wiry hair away from his face and put the gun back in his waistband. He stared into the camera and spoke in that creepy, almost artificial voice.

"Now that you know who she is, I'm willing to bet that you'll want to do something to get her back. If so, meet me at the Watterman hotel, suite 1602, at eight o'clock tonight. Alone. We'll _chat. _And, rest assured, if you bring any of your little cop play-friends along, or pull any kind of clever tricks, Ms. Dawes will become, uh, _unavailable_... Permanently. Sort of like this guy..."

Off-screen, the sound of a man pleading could be heard. Bound to a wheeled office chair, he was rolled on-camera. He was wearing a cheap brown wig, about Rachel's hair length, and a bright red Glasgow smile was drawn on his face. He was desperately crying out, "No! No! Please!" and the Joker pulled his gun and shot the man through the temple. The man instantly slumped sideways, and the Joker replaced his gun as a henchman wheeled away the victim. Bruce and Jim stared transfixed at the screen, only dimly aware that Rachel was screaming in the background. The Joker licked his lips and looked back at the camera.

"Ye-ahhh...like that! Only, not so quick, maybe... So, see you soon, Mr. Wayne. I, for one, can't wait..." Another broad grin was flashed, and then the screen went black.

"My God," wheezed Jim.

"He's a monster," Bruce muttered.

"I can't let you meet with him alone."

"I have to."

"But--"

"I'll be all right, Jim. He's targeting me, not Harvey, so he must want money. That's easy. And, I have an idea--don't worry, I'll be ok."

Jim stared at him and shook his head. "We can set up something in the room ahead of time."

"No, I'm sure he's got it under observation."

"Wear a wire, at least."

"Sure."

They were both silent for a moment, then Bruce glanced at his watch.

"I don't have much time, I'd better go."

"Be careful. Only God knows what we're dealing with now."

"Yeah, I liked him better when he just robbed banks."

Jim smiled wanly and stuck out his hand. "Good luck." Bruce nodded, shook his hand and headed out to his car.

He was going home to change--into a more appropriate outfit.

* * *


	22. I know Who You Are

Batman stood in the shadows outside the hotel. He had determined the location of room 1602--on the top floor--and had also discovered that a large air shaft ran the length of the building, directly alongside the room. He let himself into the basement through an employee entrance and made his way undetected to the base of the shaft, which he was then able to enter through a service door. He shot a strong magnet with a line attached to the very top and was propelled upward. Using a silent laser cutting device, he opened a hole in the metal large enough to squeeze through, and wriggled into the crawl space between the ceiling of the room and the roof.

He activated the x-ray function on his mask and surveyed the meeting place. Rachel was in the bedroom, lying on the bed, apparently bound and gagged--and alone. The Joker was in the sitting room next door, seated on the couch reading a newspaper. A sawed-off shotgun was in his lap.

Batman sliced through the ceiling of the bedroom and dropped silently to the floor. He could hear Rachel gasp around the gag in her mouth, and he held up a finger to shush her. She quickly gathered her wits and nodded; her arms were above her head, manacled to the bedposts. A cover had been placed over her, and, using eye movements, she frantically indicated there was something worrisome beneath. Batman quietly moved to her side and pulled away the sheet; dynamite was strapped around her waist, woven into a padlocked chain. He leaned forward to remove it, but Rachel's eyes grew even larger and she shook her head vehemently. Bruce gently pulled the gag away from her mouth and she whispered, "Don't! It's rigged--only he can take it off. And, he has a remote detonator..."

Batman nodded slightly and again made the "quiet" gesture. He turned and peered into the next room. He released a grappling hook and the shotgun was caught and instantly dragged to Batman's feet. He kicked it behind him and strode forward.

The look of consternation on the Joker's face was priceless. His eyes narrowed and he rose to his feet with a blade in his hand.

"Bats! What are you doing here? Obviously, I gave Mr. Wayne too much credit--if he couldn't make it, he should have just sent his regrets... "

"You've got _me_--what do you want with Wayne?"

"I just wanted to ask him something--something _little_. I thought I was clear about the terms, but I guess all that money and power affected his brain functions. I told him that if he didn't show, Rachel would go bye-bye. Now, we all will!" He cackled and reached with his left hand toward a pocket in his coat. Batman was at his side in a flash and grabbed his empty hand, twisting it above his head. They wrestled viciously, and Batman was aware of the knife being deflected by his Kevlar armor again and again. They stumbled onto the couch, with the Joker under Batman's weight, yet he continued to struggle to regain his position.

Batman strained to keep the clown's arm above his head and glanced at the gloved hand, assuring himself it was still empty. Their efforts had caused the sleeve of the Joker's shirt and coat to ride down his arm, and the edge of his glove was wadded up toward his hand. What was revealed would have shocked Bruce if he hadn't been in his highly focused warrior state--a ragged vertical scar with a small, homemade tattoo of a bird. The sight registered in Batman's mind, but he forced himself to ignore it. He instead redoubled his efforts, reared back, and before the Joker could go for the detonator again, the Bat's fist shot out, delivering a sharp blow that subdued the madman enough for Batman to pull out a pair of cuffs, flip him over and restrain his hands behind him.

Batman quickly dug in the Joker's pocket and removed the detonator, then made a cursory search for additional weapons. Just on the first go-round he found a pistol, a large hunting knife, a garrote, and a stiletto. He shook his head in amazement, and, for added insurance, slipped a length of thin nylon cord around the Joker's ankles and secured them so he couldn't run. The clown was still clinging to consciousness, so Batman turned him around and hit him again, this time knocking him out.

He stood up, panting, and regarded the man lying still on the floor. Could it be? No... it was impossible. His brain tried to reject the notion. In the silence, he heard a tremulous voice call "Batman?" He couldn't allow Rachel to suffer anymore, but--

He pulled out a cell phone, punched in a number, and called to Rachel, "He escaped through the window. Hang in there." An operator came on the line, and he alerted the bomb squad to the situation. He then went to the door of the bedroom and said, "It's all right. They're coming to get you out of this mess. I'm sorry, I can't stay." He turned to leave and Rachel cried out, "Wait--where are you going?"

"I've got to deal with the Joker."

***

Batman slung the unconscious man over his shoulder and escaped through the roof and down the fire escape. He threw the Joker in the back seat of the Tumbler and roared toward the bat cave. His mind was reeling.

He couldn't believe it--it wasn't possible. His brain was playing tricks on him. Yes, that was it--Rachel had mentioned Jack, he'd seen his picture recently--obviously, he just wanted to find him so badly, his subconscious had leapt to ridiculous conclusions. He'd only glimpsed the mark, his mind must have made it look similar to the one on Jack's wrist.

Or, maybe it was some bizarre coincidence. Difficult to imagine, but possible...

Whatever the explanation, there was no way this maniac could be Jack. The horrible scars, the lank greasy hair, the odd voice... not to mention the criminal behavior. Jack, _his _Jack, could never be a kidnapper, a bank robber--a murderer_. _No.

_No._

But, he knew what he had seen. Logically, there _was_ a chance; so, he would take him where he could discover the truth in private. Once he ascertained that he was wrong, wildly, absurdly wrong, he would haul the criminal off to the MCU, leave him there, and never think of his stupidity again.

But--what if...?

What if this man, this insane criminal, _was_ Jack? His beautiful blond lover from so long ago? That perfect face ravaged by a blade... Who would want to hurt him? Why? What could possibly have happened to turn that sweet, wonderful boy into this madman? The thought caused a sudden welling up of emotion in Batman's throat and he choked it back. _No_. He couldn't let himself fall apart over this. He was being ridiculous, grasping at straws, so desperate to see his long-lost love again that he was willing to believe anything. He was being weak, and he had to stop it. Stop it until he could be sure.

He drove into the dank underground and parked, then dragged the still-unconscious Joker out of the back, carried him to the cluttered work table and swept the contents onto a cart. He laid the Joker down and re-cuffed his hands in front of his body so that he lay flat. He strapped him to the table with more of the nylon cord. Then he went to the sink and soaked a soft cloth in warm water, found a bottle of degreaser and a plastic bowl, and carried it all back to the table.

Batman stared at the clown. The makeup obscured many features while exaggerating others. Of course this couldn't be Jack, he'd have known in an instant if it was. How could he think that this... this _creature_ could be him?

How many mornings had he awakened with that warm sleeping boy nestled naked in his arms, allowing him time to study every feature of his face? How many times had he smiled at the smattering of freckles across his nose, marveled at the delicious curve of his lips, at how young and innocent he looked asleep, before he awoke to meet the day with a cynical grin and mischief in his brown eyes?

Bruce had been so determined to memorize every plane and slope of his face, his laugh lines, little scars here and there, but every time, he would be overcome with love and lust and need, would lean down to kiss him awake, and then... Batman forced himself to push the memories aside and attend to his task.

He started to apply the cloth when he noticed the almost vertical scar on the Joker's mouth, diminished by the thick coating of red lipstick caked over it. _Damn. _He knew that scar, he knew how he got it, it had been there since he was a little boy... Batman felt tears spring into his eyes and, slowly and gently, he began wiping away the grease paint. Yes, there was no question, it was there just as he remembered. He moved the cloth to the cheeks, the nose, the forehead, swiping at the red, the white, and the black, slowly revealing what he already knew.

The Joker was Jack Ramsey.

The scars were the most difficult to clean. The red was so deeply embedded, it was necessary to go over and over them. He was making headway when the Joker's eyes fluttered open and he stared up at Batman, indignation in his eyes.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Batman paused, choking back his sorrow.

"Revealing your true identity."

The Joker shifted uncomfortably on the table, grimacing with pain from the earlier blows, but a low laugh came from deep in his throat.

"Well, good luck with that, pal."

The Bat continued his work and the Joker turned his face away in irritation, like a kid evading his mom's spit-wetted tissue. Batman forced his jaw toward him and held it tightly in place. The Joker gave him a disgusted look.

"Oh, let it go already. What--do I have a photo shoot coming up or something? Want me to look good for my mug shot?"

In spite of his complaint, the Joker found the touch of the warm cloth to be pleasant and he was confused. By rights, he should be in the back of a squad car, or beaten to a pulp, or--

"So, you're the Batman. What the hell are you planning to do? I thought your PR campaign said you were on the side of good and justice, how come I'm not in jail by now? Or, are you planning to carry out justice yourself? Hey, are you going to kill me?"

"That's not my job. Anyway, I don't kill."

"Mmm. So, you're making me all pretty--you got the hots for clowns?"

"I hate clowns."

"Ouch! Well, then, you just going to torture me for sport?"

"It's a thought."

"Hmm. You're a hard one to figure." The Joker yawned and stretched his full length in spite of the bindings, now cheerfully submitting to the masked man's ministrations, turning his head as needed. Whatever interest he had in the future had dulled and he occupied himself by surveying his surroundings.

"Quite a setup you got here."

No response.

"Wayne knew what he was doing, getting you to catch me. All those gadgets--you're more than a match for me!" His grin deepened, but was met with stony silence. He waited a few beats then started again.

"Listen, though, it's a small point given the circumstances, but you're a lousy host."

Nothing.

"It's considered polite to offer a guest something to drink. I'd offer to get it myself, but, heh, for obvious reasons I--"

A stare.

"I can see you're not set up for coffee or tea service, but how about a martini?"

Still nothing.

"Tom Collins? Shot of whiskey? No? You telling me you don't have a wet bar stashed down here someplace? Aw, come on. What about a soda? Doesn't have to be name-brand, I imagine you're the frugal type." He lay silent again, watching his "host" continue with his task.

"So, a glass of water, then." Batman ignored him and he frowned. "Oh, please, you've got a sink right there! It's like five feet away, you can't give me a lousy drink of water?"

"No glasses."

The Joker gave him an admiring look. "Well, now that's a good excuse. Ok, how about letting me have a drag off a cigarette, hm? I'm dying for a smoke. Pretty please? I've got a pack in my shirt pocket, would you do me a favor and--"

Batman reached into the pocket and pulled out the pack. He opened it and stuck a cigarette between the scarred lips. The Joker stared at him expectantly, then prodded, "Uh--I've got a lighter in there, too."

"Smoking's not good for you," Batman rasped, dipping into the warm place again. He flicked up a flame and held it to the Joker's cigarette. He took a deep drag and lay back as he exhaled.

"Thanks. Yeah, you know, someone told me that once. So, you going to just leave me here?" he asked as Batman walked away to throw the dirty rag and bowl into the sink.

"No, I--"

Batman turned and discovered the Joker was now standing directly in front of him, a small pistol gripped in his cuffed hands. He had managed to use the cigarette--which he was still smoking--to burn through the cords. He jammed the pistol under Batman's chin, just at the edge of his cowl.

"Take off the cuffs."

Sighing, Batman pulled the key out of his belt and did as directed. The Joker backed away from him, moving toward the exit. Batman stared after him, then spoke, his voice reverberating in the cavernous space.

"I know who you are."

The Joker stopped short and perked up with interest, a sly smile crossing his lips.

"Interesting! Wrong, but interesting. Go on."

"I know how you got that scar on your lower lip--you fell against a coffee table when you were five. I know that lime is your favorite flavor of Jell-o. I know you were twelve when your mom died, and I know your first car was a blue Dodge Charger."

The Joker's expression turned to deep suspicion and he slowly began creeping back toward Batman. The raspy voice continued.

"I know what you're like when you're drunk and I know how smart you are. I know your birthday and what you look like naked."

The Joker was now standing five feet away.

"I know your name is Jack Ramsey and I know you used to love me."

The Joker bit his lip and shook his head. "Who the fuck are you?"

Batman opened the clasp on his cowl and pulled it and his mask off. The Joker's eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw as Bruce Wayne's face was revealed. He stood still and the two men stared at each other.

Suddenly, the Joker began laughing. It was a sick, disturbing laugh, and Bruce could see his eyes held no amusement. He let him have his release then said quietly, "Jack--what the hell happened to you? What in God's name happened?"

_"Me? _What happened to _you? _Look at you! Running around like a kid on Halloween--what kind of business is that? Oh, this is rich, this is too much... " He dissolved into another fit of laughter and Bruce stood by, frowning. He really had no idea what to do. Suddenly, he heard his own voice, speaking without conscious thought.

"Why'd you leave me, Jack?"

The Joker abruptly stopped laughing and stared at him blankly.

_"Leave _you? What the _fuck _are you talking about?"

Bruce had steadily been suppressing tears, but his voice broke.

"My aunt said you got into trouble--why didn't you tell me? If you had to leave town, why didn't you ever contact me? I could have helped you, I could have taken care of whatever it was. I would have done anything for you, or, hell, I would have gone with you... I searched for you for so long, kept thinking I saw you everywhere--"

The Joker was watching him as if he were an animal that had suddenly begun to talk.

"I have no freakin' clue as to what you're talking about. Your aunt told me you wanted me gone. She had a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars that she said you wanted to give me to go away, you--"

Now it was Bruce's turn to look bewildered.

"What? I never--"

"She said you were afraid of what being associated with me would do to your career, to your image as Gotham's 'savior.' She handed me the damn check and I tore it up. Your butler was right there, heard every word. So don't lie to me now, you fucking bastard. I didn't want your money."

"I--there was no check!"

"Had your signature on it."

"No! Jack, I would never have done anything like that! I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I was going to figure out a way that we could be together--"

"That's bullshit! Your aunt said--"

"She said you were in trouble with the drug dealers and--"

_"Drug dealers? _No, no, no. She told me if I didn't leave town, she'd see to it that I was put in prison. 'Like my father.'"

"She threatened you?"

"Yeah."

"No. She wouldn't do that, she... "

"Maybe we could have a chat with her," Jack suggested in a dark tone as he pulled a knife.

"She's dead."

"Too... _bad."_

Bruce looked at the clown's face--without the makeup, even with the scars, the sunken eyes, the harsh planes of his too-thin face, he could still see his Jack. He felt broken. He stepped forward and pulled the man into his arms, not caring that he could easily kill him without his cowl, he didn't care, he just didn't care...

The Joker didn't feel anything. He never did, anymore. He was aware of the strong arms encircling him--something familiar about that. He registered that the ragged breaths of emotion that the other man was dragging in meant he was--happy? Not? He couldn't tell, it was like a foreign language. All he knew was that he was free and he could get out if he wished, the Bat hadn't _begun_ to relieve him of all his weapons, but he was strangely immobilized by indecision. By recollections that he thought were burned up and stamped out. By something stirring inside him...

He slowly raised his arms and clasped them around Bruce's waist, then dropped his head on Bruce's shoulder. Whatever this was, whatever it used to be, it was... something good. He wasn't used to that, nor did he want it. But he was suddenly tired, too tired to do anything but stand there in this almost-stranger's embrace.

The two held each other for a long time before Alfred's voice came over the intercom.


	23. The Joke Was On Us

"Master Wayne, are you down there?"

Bruce and the Joker moved away from each other, and the Joker's eyes widened.

"Damn--he's still alive?"

"He's not _that_ old," Bruce hissed as he reached for the intercom button. "Yes, Alfred, I'm here."

"Thank God. Did you have any luck finding the Joker?"

"Uh--" He looked at the Joker, who was enthusiastically mouthing "That's me!" and pointing at himself. He frowned and said, "No, he got away. But I'm sure he'll give us another chance."

"Undoubtedly, sir. I was thinking of going to bed--shall I warm up your dinner first?"

"No, please, go on to bed. I'll take care of it."

"Very good, sir." The intercom crackled off.

The two men stared at each other.

"Dinner, huh? You know, being captured sure works up an appetite. Think you might be able to scrape together a sandwich for an old... buddy?" The Joker licked his lips and slyly raised an eyebrow.

Bruce regarded him with a critical frown. If the man was intent on killing him, he'd passed on an easy chance. Still...

"I'll take you to the penthouse, but--"

"Penthouse, eh? Oh, yeah, the old place burned down, thanks to your being an idiot--"

"There's a little more to the story than that, but never mind. I'll take you there. But--no weapons."

"No weapons? Aw, you're no fun..." The Joker gave an exaggerated scowl but willingly handed Bruce the knife, handle first, and then the pistol. Bruce took them and dropped them in a locking drawer.

"What else?"

"Nothing!" The Joker spread his hands apart in a gesture of innocence.

Bruce stepped up to him and did a cursory pat-down over the clown's purple coat. The Joker grinned, his dark eyes never leaving Bruce's. He came up with two more knives, a grenade, and what appeared to be several small incendiary devices. Bruce gave him a reproachful look and dumped them in the drawer.

"A mere oversight. Now can we go?" the Joker asked plaintively.

"Take off the coat."

"Huh?"

"Take off the coat!"

"Jeeze..." The Joker irritably obeyed and handed the heavy woolen overcoat to Bruce, who promptly turned it upside down and shook it. Another knife and a can of tear gas fell out. He gave a dour look to the Joker, bent down and collected them for the drawer. He threw the coat on a counter and turned back to the Joker. "Now, the jacket."

"You are so suspicious..." He complied and Bruce only had to shake the garment to detect more metal-ware. He sighed and tossed the jacket on top of the coat.

"Now that," he said, referring to the Joker's vest. He rolled his eyes, but slipped it off and handed it resignedly to Bruce. He reached in into a pocket and pulled out a small spray container of mace. He threw the vest on the counter with the other garments.

Bruce stepped in front of the Joker and gave him another, more thorough, pat-down. The Joker grinned lasciviously as Bruce's hands traveled over his chest and waist, then brushed over the back pockets of his trousers.

"Aw, yeah, just like old times, eh Brucie?"

Bruce glared. "Shut up. I should have hauled you in to the MCU." Bruce drew out another small gun and a stiletto.

"Happy?" the Joker asked.

"Not yet." Bruce reached into a different drawer and took out a hand-held metal detector. He wanded the Joker from head to foot. He retrieved two more knives, one of which was strapped to the Joker's leg, and a bicycle chain. He ran it again and it was quiet until he got near the Joker's feet and the wand emitted an electronic squawk. He glanced up.

"Take off your shoes."

Sighing, the Joker did as he was told, then held his arms out, Christ-like, as he shrugged. "I feel naked."

"You should feel damn lucky. What the hell were you thinking, wiring Rachel up with dynamite? We could have all been killed. And, if I hadn't seen the scar and tattoo on your wrist, you'd be locked up by now, or worse."

"Well, obviously, I didn't expect Batman to waste his time on someone as vapid as Bruce Wayne. How was I to know he was the same damn fucker?"

"But, Rachel! Why did you want to hurt her?"

"Now, Brucie, Rachel was in no real danger--"

"She was strapped to dynamite! And, don't call me Brucie…"

The Joker looked surprised, then continued dismissively.

"I just wanted to be sure I had your full attention. I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to her..."

Bruce stared dolefully at him, then pointed toward the elevator. The Joker moved forward and Bruce followed, watching the man's every move. As they were waiting for the car to come down, the Joker took a slim plastic sleeve out of his pocket.

Bruce frowned. "What's that?"

The Joker pulled an innocuous plastic comb from the sleeve. "Just wanted to freshen up a bit." Bruce shrugged and turned back to wait for the elevator. Suddenly, the Joker had Bruce around the neck and was holding an instrument with a sharp pointed edge--the hard plastic comb handle, carved into a needle-like weapon--against his jugular.

"Never trust a metal detector, Brucie."

Bruce grabbed his hand, bent it back and twisted out of the hold, simultaneously forcing the Joker to his knees. He grimaced, then wheezed with laughter.

"Oh--oh, boy--you're good--ow, ow, shit, now that's a grip! Hey--I really had you going there for a minute though, didn't I?"

"Get up."

"Ok, ok, I was just joking with you!"

"Do not fuck with me."

That lewd grin again. "I--gee, you've really changed, Brucie-boy, you used to--."

"If you call me that again, I really _will_ hurt you."

The elevator arrived and Bruce stepped in, yanking the Joker along with him.

The Joker gave Bruce a regretful look. "You know, I never wanted to kill you."

"That's good."

"I mean, I _thought_ about it…"

"Of course."

"...but there really would have been no point to it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Much more fun to torture you--indefinitely."

The elevator stopped and the door slid open. Bruce grabbed the Joker's arm and pulled him into the hall, then jammed him roughly against the wall, his face inches from the Joker's nose.

"Well, mission accomplished."

"Oh, no, Brucie, I haven't begun to--"

"All these years, all this time, wondering where you were, if you were safe, if you were happy, if you were even alive--you don't think I've been in hell?"

The Joker's glib expression faltered, but he quickly recovered and spoke in a bitter tone. "You seem to have come through just fine, aside from the family manor being reduced to ashes. You see, I've been catching up on your antics lately, the society pages of the Gotham Evening News are full of your romantic escapades, and the business section clued me in on how well your financial dealings are coming along. And--"

"And that's all bullshit." Bruce released his grip on him and rubbed his hands over his face. "Why didn't you ever contact me, Jack? Just a phone call to let me know you were ok would have--"

The Joker's expression became cold and distant.

"But, I wasn't ok, you fucking bastard. You think I got these in a skiing accident or something?" he demanded, pointing at his scars.

"I--I'm so sorry. No, of course not, but--"

The Joker cast his eyes upward and shook his head tiredly. "I'm hungry. What's there to eat around here? Caviar, _pate de foie gras_? A nice slice of bologna would do…"

Bruce gave a weak smile. "I think we can hit a happy medium. Come on." He led the way to the kitchen and the Joker pursed his lips thoughtfully as he followed.

This was not how he'd expected the day to go. But, maybe it was better.

***

"So, you became the Batman." The Joker chewed his thick roast beef sandwich around a sly smile and winked. "How the hell did that come about?"

Bruce had shucked off his costume and was down to a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He picked up his sandwich and took a deep breath.

"It's a long story. I left the country, learned some things--I decided that what I could do for Gotham was to meet the corruption head on, in the streets, as well as with money."

"How valiant of you."

"After you left, I had nothing else."

They stared at each other for a moment, then the Joker continued.

"What happened between you and Rachel?"

"I tried. We had a relationship, but--all I did was hurt her. I'm lucky she still considers me a friend."

"And Harvey Dent--"

"She loves Harvey, not me."

"Must have hurt."

"No. What hurt was losing you. Everything else was just a scratch."

The Joker smiled. "You poor thing. Left with nothing but your billions of dollars and people who cared for you. Must have been rough."

Their eyes locked. Bruce shook his head as though to clear it.

"You cooked up an elaborate scheme to see me, what did you want?"

"I wanted to ask you some questions. Like, why the hell you wanted to send me away?"

"I already told you--I didn't."

"If you're telling the truth."

Bruce's jaw tightened. "Of course I am. Why would I lie to you?"

The Joker smirked.

"Well, I don't know, you had a psycho with a gun standing in front of you, I would think even a hotshot like Batman might think twice about hurting his little feelings…"

"It's just as I told you, Miriam said--look, I'm not going to repeat myself. And anyway, how do I know _you're_ telling the truth?"

The Joker narrowed his eyes.

"Why don't we get your butler in here. Sounds like we both should hear what he has to say."

"Leave Alfred out of this. If Miriam did have a scheme, he wouldn't have known anything about it."

"He was _right there_. He heard every word."

Bruce gave him an incredulous look. "All right. I'll get him in here. You go to the utility room--I'll put the intercom on, you'll be able to hear the whole conversation."

The Joker shrugged his acceptance, and Bruce called Alfred to the kitchen. After several minutes, he trudged in, wearing pajamas, a robe and slippers. Bruce gave him a small smile.

"I'm so sorry to get you up at this late hour, Alfred."

"Quite all right, I was just reading. Is there a problem?"

"No, I just need to ask you--there's something that's been on my mind lately."

"What's that, sir?"

"Do you remember, all those years ago, when Jack left town without a word?"

Alfred's expression grew dark. "Yes sir, of course. That was a very difficult time."

"Yes. I--I never spoke to you about it, but I've always wondered if there was more to the story than what Miriam said."

"How so?"

"I can't believe Jack would just leave me like that. He must have been very frightened of something, something more than a drug dealer. Did Miri ever say anything to you about it?"

"What's the point of dredging all this up now, sir? Jack's been gone for ten years, what difference does it make?"

"Tell me what really happened, Alfred."

The butler held his employer's gaze for a long moment, then he dropped his eyes to the floor. Miriam had sworn him to secrecy, but she was dead. He supposed having the truth come out at this late date wouldn't make any difference.

"It was awful," he said in a low voice. "She--she made up a story about you wanting Jack out of your life. Offered him a very large sum of money to go away and not come back. He refused, said he didn't believe you wanted him to leave, that you loved each other. She gave him a check with your signature--one of those blank ones that I kept for emergencies--and he tore the check into pieces. Said he wanted to hear it from you." Alfred sighed heavily. "She said you were too upset to speak with him. And… She said she'd see to it he ended up in prison if he didn't leave immediately. She also told him about his father--a murderer."

Both men were quiet for a few minutes, then Alfred continued.

"She convinced him that if the press caught on to your association with him, that your future would be ruined, and he didn't want that. He didn't want to hurt you. He was--broken. He loved you, sir, I could see that. And I know you loved him."

Bruce struggled to contain his emotions before he spoke.

"Why didn't you do something? Why didn't you step in, put a stop to it?"

"I _couldn't. _I thought--I thought Miriam was right, that Jack _would _destroy your future, and there was so much at stake. Not just for you, but for Gotham. But… I think I was wrong. I think it was a mistake. And I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

"The story she told me--that Jack was in trouble with a drug dealer--that wasn't true either, was it?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, sir. It wasn't."

"But you let the lie stand."

He nodded.

They were both quiet.

"Go back to bed, Alfred."

"Sir--"

"Please."

"Yes, sir." Alfred forced himself to maintain a stoic expression, but his heart was wrenched by the pain in Bruce's face. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to make it better. He stood and left the room, leaving Bruce with his head hanging down. After a moment, the Joker appeared, slouching in the doorway.

"Looks like the joke was on both of us."

Bruce didn't bother to raise his head. "Yeah."

The Joker sauntered to Bruce's side and ran cold fingers down his forearm, sending an involuntary shiver through him. "Sucks, huh? You want me to take him out? Kill the unfaithful servant?" he offered.

_"No." _Bruce's voice shook. He supposed the Joker was kidding, but... "He did what he thought was right. He didn't understand. He didn't understand what losing you would do to me."

"Aw. What a sweet guy you are." The Joker licked up the side of Bruce's face and caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Why don't we, uh, go make up for lost time, eh, Brucie? A little roll in the hay? For old times' sake?" The odd voice still unnerved Bruce and his touch was like a dead man's. He stepped backward several steps.

"No. You-you're not Jack. You're not the guy I used to know--"

"That's right, Brucie-boy, I'm _not." _The Joker began to advance on him._ "_I should have mentioned that before--your sweet little boyfriend Jackie died a long time ago. He's gone, Brucie, dead and gone, dead and _gone. _Now... there's just me!" He gestured at his chest with both hands as an ugly giggle exploded from his throat. He shoved Bruce backward against the kitchen table, then threw his whole weight on top of him and covered his mouth with his in a wet, hungry kiss. In a reflex, Bruce wrapped his legs around him and the Joker ground against him.

Every bit of logic had left Bruce's mind and he realized he was no longer in control of his actions. This man--this madman--wasn't Jack, but he was a force to be reckoned with and there was something about him that Bruce wanted, craved, an energy that fueled a need within him. He found himself returning the rough kiss, biting back, gripping the Joker's arms, not to push him away, but to pull him towards him and he suddenly spun the Joker aside and stood, grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him toward the stairs leading to his bedroom.


	24. Morning, Sunshine

**A/N: A quick update! Happy Labor Day to the US folks! :)**

**Reeniecat**

***

Bruce dragged the Joker upstairs and into his bedroom. He locked the door without loosening his grip on the Joker's arm even though he was struggling to regain dominance. Bruce forced him against the wall with his thigh thrust between the Joker's legs, and he wrapped his arms around him and gave him a fierce kiss.

The Joker pulled away and giggled. "That's cute, Brucie. You've always been the romantic one. Start with a little kiss, eh? Well, that's fine with me." The Joker viciously returned the kiss, biting and licking at Bruce's lips, sucking at his tongue. He worked one hand down to Bruce's crotch and squeezed nastily.

They grappled with each other. Bruce wanted to slow things down, in fact, he wanted to reverse time, to take them back to the days when he and Jack would race upstairs before Alfred knew they were home, laughing and shushing each other on the way, so desperate to get their clothes off and begin making love that they almost fell over each other in the hallway, making them laugh all the harder.

This--this was nothing like that. The Joker grabbed Bruce's ass with both hands and bucked his pelvis against him, making sure he felt his thick erection in a coarse mockery of seduction. "Come on, Brucie--let's, uh, cut to the chase, huh? Nothing we haven't done before--"

Bruce pulled back and looked into the glittering eyes. Containing the Joker's sexual energy was like trying to stuff a live tiger into a body bag, but Bruce knew he was being played. There was no warmth or affection in the man's touch, no longing or desire, just a raw wantonness that left him cold. He kept the Joker pinned by his shoulders at arm's length and tried to find something human in those eyes.

"Stop it. Stop it. I don't want this, I don't want you like this." Bruce let go and stepped back. The Joker stepped forward and wrestled with him until he'd managed to reverse their positions, with Bruce now slammed against the wall. The Joker licked his lips and with a twisted grin on his face, spoke in an almost hypnotic tone.

"Hey--hey--Bruce, you want me to call you Bruce? Ok--listen, listen to me--this is inevitable, understand? You and me. This was going to happen all along, it was just going to be so much more fun doing it in front of Rachel with a knife at your throat, but _oh, well. _Now, quit playing the blushing virgin and--"

Bruce gave him a violent shove backwards and the Joker almost lost his balance. He recovered and used the momentum to deliver a roundhouse punch to Bruce's face. Bruce took it and responded with a jab to the Joker's nose. He rocked back and came up with a powerful kick to Bruce's midsection. Bruce doubled over, but as the Joker ran at him to follow up, he head-butted him and sent him awkwardly scrambling backward.

He righted himself, shaking his head like a dog and sending droplets of blood flying from his nose. He pulled himself up to his full height and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, then carefully straightened his shirt, and his mouth tightened into a displeased sneer.

"Well, all right. Point made. Rejection is not new to me, Wayne. I can take a hint. If you don't want to play, fine, I'll leave. Another time, perhaps--when I'm more prepared to overcome your…reluctance." He made as if to stride past Bruce, but a hand shot out, grabbed the Joker's collar and forced him to turn to face him.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Oh, yeah? Look, make up your mind, will you? It's not like you to toy with one's affections." The disturbing smile was back.

"I haven't changed my mind. But I can't let you leave."

"Really."

"You're a criminal, Jack. I can't let you go back out on the streets. I thought I could talk to you, try to help you--but that's obviously not possible. I better just take you in and let the police deal with you."

The Joker stood with his hands on his lips, looking perplexed.

"Ok, now, just a minute. You dragged me up here for a fuck, but you changed your mind for some reason, and now you want to turn me in? What an asshole!"

"Me! You kidnapped Rachel and were planning to, what, _rape_ me in front of her? What the hell's the matter with you?"

"It sounded like fun at the time--"

"You're insane!"

"I'm--not." The dark eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not. I see things very clearly, Bruce. I see that I was wrong. I thought you were the source of all the corruption and pathetic failings of this town, but now I see--you never were." He sauntered forward to stand in front of Bruce and put his hands on his shoulders.

"It's bigger than that, always has been. You're a victim, just like I was. But, I'm not a victim anymore, and you don't have to be either. Why don't you let me explain it to you? Hmm?" He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss onto Bruce's lips. One had slid along Bruce's chest, sending a shiver through him. He kissed back tenderly.

Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his side just below his waist, immediately followed by the sensation of thick warm liquid soaking his clothes. He looked down and saw the red stain spreading, and then felt another tearing pain as the Joker twisted and removed what Bruce recognized as his own kitchen knife from his side.

"What have you done?" he asked softly.

"Poor Brucie. So quick to trust. Relax, it's nothing life threatening, no vital organs breached. Come on, old buddy. You come with me. I'll tell you all about how fucked Gotham really is. Oh, and I'll tell you how I got these scars, you're probably curious about that."

He slipped his arm under Bruce's and led him toward the door. Bruce was flushed with the radiating pain from his wound, but he frantically twisted away and aimed a punch at the Joker's head. He easily dodged it and returned the blow, sending Bruce reeling backward.

"Aw, good try. You're tough, aren't you? All right, let's go again." The Joker grabbed a lamp and brought it down over Bruce's head. He saw stars, the Joker's leering face, and then...

Nothing.

***

Bruce woke up on a soft bed with his side on fire. He shook his head and tried to focus. He was aware of a repetitive pressure working at his wound and realized the Joker was bending over him, a needle and thread in his hand. He was humming softly as he stitched him up.

"Morning, sunshine."

"Wha-what the fuck?"

"Hold still. Almost done." The Joker made a few more stitches, tied a knot and clipped off the needle. "There, good as new." He sat back and regarded Bruce.

Bruce found that his hands were secured above his head, and when he tried to pull his legs up, he felt resistance, telling him that he was bound at the ankles as well.

"You bastard. What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I thought you might appreciate keeping a little of your blood contained inside your body. I can yank these out, though, if you'd prefer."

"Let me go."

The Joker laughed.

"No, no, no. You know, this has been a day of surprises for me, now it's your turn."

"Boss--" One of the Joker's henchmen stood in the door.

"Boss?" Bruce couldn't help but laugh. "When did you become anyone's 'boss'?"

"Oh, I've got a small but loyal staff. Highly disposable, but--what do you need?" he asked the man.

"Van's out of gas, you want me to go into town and fill 'er up?"

"Yeah. Bring back some donuts or something, too. I think our guest might be hungry." He looked back at Bruce. "I need to go do some supervising, you stay right here, ok?" He winked and strode out of the room.

Bruce took his bearings. He was lying on an old-fashioned iron bed, his hands clamped to the head rail with handcuffs, his feet tied with rope. He was in what appeared to be a long-abandoned bedroom, with a dusty broken down dresser against the wall, a chair, peeling wallpaper and a torn curtain on the window. The bedding he was lying on seemed to be fresh, however. Through the dirty window, he could see that the first light of dawn was breaking through on the black horizon.

His side hurt and the back of his head throbbed, but the pain was beginning to ebb. He noticed a bottle of pills on the dresser and realized the Joker must have given him something for the pain. As he became more comfortable, the room began to spin pleasantly and he suddenly felt drained. Before he realized what was happening, he slipped back into unconsciousness.


	25. Funny Ideas

Bruce woke up to the sun piercing through his eyelids. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, thinking maybe he'd dreamed the last twenty-four hours, but his arms and legs were still bound, and the dull throb in his side sharpened as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position. _Fuck, _he thought. He gathered his strength and bellowed "Jack!"

No response.

"Jack, you fucking bastard! Get me out of here! _Jack!" _He yelled a few more times, not knowing what else to do, and eventually he heard the sound of footsteps outside the room. The door opened and the Joker, back in full makeup, slipped in carrying a bag of donuts and a cup of coffee. He set them on the dresser, then pulled the chair up next to the bed as he fished a key out of his pocket.

"How you doing, there?" he asked as he popped open one set of cuffs.

"Not very well, Jack, not very well. What exactly do you intend to do with me?"

"Oh, I don't know, I've always wanted a pet. You _are _house trained, as I recall." He grinned as Bruce attempted to grab him with his free hand. "Now, now. Don't tear your stitches. Here, eat." He handed him a donut and Bruce reluctantly accepted it. He chewed resentfully and stared at his captor.

"They'll be looking be looking for me, you know."

"'They?' Who's 'they,' the cops? Oh, well, rest easy, then. You'll be out of here in no time."

"You can't just keep me here."

"Oh, actually I can. I--"

"Boss?" Another henchman.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Jesus, what am I running, a day care center? _What?"_

"I got the TV."

"Finally. Bring it in."

The man rolled in an old television set on a cart. He knelt and plugged it in, hooked up the cable, then looked inquiringly at his employer who waved him away.

"Thought you might like to know how fucking popular you are." The Joker got up and turned on a news broadcast.

"Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has been reported missing. Mr. Wayne was last seen at his home last night..." The Joker flipped through several stations, each with a news report or crawl announcing Bruce's disappearance. The Joker turned to him and spread his arms in disgust.

"You see that? Gang bangers blow holes in little kids sleeping in their beds and it barely rates a mention on the ten o'clock wrap-up, but let one little billionaire fail to show up at the morning board meeting, and time stops. Sickening."

"Am I supposed to feel guilty that they're looking for me?"

"Oh, God, please don't feel guilty. Don't feel guilty about anything--"

"What do you want from me, Jack? Oh, excuse me, Joker? That's what you're calling yourself these days, right?"

"I'm not calling myself anything, that's the goddamn news media for you. Enough of this shit." He flipped to a soap opera and stared at it in distaste, then shut it off. "Daytime TV sucks, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'll put it on Jerry Springer for you later." He took his seat again and handed Bruce the coffee. Bruce stared at it, considering, and the Joker said, "Don't be childish. It's not hot enough to hurt, and I know how you need your caffeine in the morning." Bruce glared at him and took a sip. It was tepid but strong.

"So, am I a hostage, or--"

"I'm not telling--I want you to keep you guessing. I mean, the possibilities are endless!" The Joker chuckled. "For right now, consider yourself my esteemed guest, nothing too good for you, Brucie." He pulled a small vial and a hypodermic needle out of his pocket, and Bruce's eyes widened.

"Jack, no! What the hell--"

"Oh, calm down! It's just an antibiotic. You want to get blood poisoning or something? That knife didn't look very clean, you really should speak to your butler about his dishwashing habits..." He stuck the needle into the rubber top of the vial and prepared the shot. Bruce struggled to grab the syringe as best he could with one hand, and the Joker slapped him hard across the face. "I said, calm down." he growled in a deep voice. He took Bruce's free arm and injected the medication. Bruce panted, staring in anger.

"Are you going to kill me?" he hissed.

The Joker looked at him, aggrieved. "Do you think I would waste perfectly good amoxicillin on you if I were?"

Bruce studied his painted face for a moment, waiting. He didn't feel any different.

"That was really just an antibiotic?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I think so..." He checked the label on the vial and nodded. "Yep, that's what it says here. Shit, Brucie, you're so mistrustful all of a sudden!"

_"You stabbed me."_

"I--you know, you're a lot whinier than I remember. Let me make a tiny point for you." He came to sit next to the bed and wrestled Bruce's arm back into the handcuffs. He leaned down so his face was inches from Bruce's. "If you back me into a corner, I'll do whatever's necessary to get out of it. It's not surprising, or unusual. Given the opportunity, you'd do the same."

"I don't kill."

"Well, let's not get technical about it." He sat back and sighed, suddenly seeming tired. "You need to hit the can or anything? I'm going to get some shut eye, but I'll take you first, if you want."

"Yes."

"Ok. But, as they say in the movies, don't get any funny ideas." He waited a beat, and when Bruce didn't respond, he added, lame stand-up style, "'Cause, I'm the clown, see? Get it? Funny ideas? Oh, never mind, you're no fun." He sliced through the ropes and unlocked the cuffs, holding a pistol on Bruce the whole time. Bruce painfully eased himself out of the bed. The Joker jammed the gun into his ribs and guided him as he limped down the hall to the bathroom.

"Can I have some privacy?" Bruce asked.

"Nope, sorry. Go ahead, gorgeous, nothing there I haven't seen, uh, before." He cocked an eyebrow in a sly smirk.

Bruce turned away and emptied his bladder, then washed his hands.

"There's a good boy, you get a gold star for hygiene. Come on, back to bed, you have some recuperating to do." He waved him out the door with the pistol. Bruce calculated the odds of being able to kick the gun out of his hand in his shaky condition, and again seeming to read Bruce's mind, the Joker grinned.

"Go ahead, if you want. I've got Neanderthals all over this house who aren't too smart, but they're good shots. You wouldn't make it out the door."

Bruce nodded and shambled back to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. The Joker again secured his hands and, absurdly, planted a kiss on his forehead. "Nite nite, pal. I'll see you later. I suggest you get some sleep, you'll feel a lot better if you do."

"You were right, Joker. Jack _is_ dead, isn't he?" Bruce stared dully out the window as the Joker tightened fresh rope around his ankles.

"Mm-hmm. Long time gone." He reached up and turned Bruce's face to him. "I don't miss him. He was a sap."

"He was a good person."

"Same thing." He grinned and headed out the door.

***

The next two days were a hazy blur for Bruce. The Joker gave him pain meds and he drifted in and out of consciousness. The Joker personally took care of him--cleaning his wound, changing his bandages, taking him to the bathroom. He brought him food regularly and the two would sit and watch trashy cable TV shows together.

On the morning of the third day, Bruce waved away the pain pills, declaring he felt much better.

"You sure, tough guy? Your body's busy recuperating from a nasty stab wound, it's no shame to be doped up a little."

"No. No more pills."

"Fine." The Joker leaned forward, took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. "You're getting ripe. Time for a bath, if you ask me."

Bruce stared at him. The thought of warm water and soap sounded wonderful, plus there might be a possibility of escape. He nodded.

"That would be nice."

"Ok." The Joker released him, keeping a gun on him. Bruce noticed he stuck the handcuffs in his pocket. They went down the hall to the bathroom and the Joker shut the door behind them. Bruce frowned.

"I'm an old hand at bathing myself, you don't have to help."

"Sorry, Brucie, I don't trust you. Anyway, they say more accidents happen in the bathroom than any other room in the house, and I wouldn't want you to get, uh, hurt, again. Go ahead, undress." He stood leaning against the door, gesturing with his pistol. Bruce sighed and began taking off his clothes. He glanced at the Joker, expecting some lascivious comments, but he just watched impassively.

When Bruce was naked, the Joker motioned for him to get in the old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. He tried, but a streak of pain shot from his wound through his entire torso. "Here." The Joker gripped his arm and helped him to step over the high edge of the tub. After Bruce was safely seated, he pointed the gun at his face. "Hands up."

"Do you think I have a weapon up my ass?" Bruce asked, almost amused.

"Just do it." Bruce raised his hands and the Joker clapped the cuffs on first one, then the other, attaching him to a heavy water pipe running behind the tub.

"I can't help but think it's going to be hard for me to reach my toes like this."

"That's my job." The Joker set his gun on the commode tank, stripped off his jacket and pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He knelt by the tub and turned on the water, adjusting it until it was a comfortable temperature. He reached up to a shelf behind him and brought down a bar of soap and a washcloth.

There was a hand-held spray attachment that the Joker stuck on the faucet. "Close your eyes." He sprayed water on Bruce's head until his hair was thoroughly wet, set down the sprayer and rubbed in the soap, using both hands. Bruce was annoyed with himself for enjoying the touch, but it felt wonderful. The Joker washed the soap out of his hair and turned off the water. He took the washcloth and began methodically scrubbing Bruce down, his face, his neck, behind his ears. Bruce watched him, wondering what in hell he was thinking. As if in response, the Joker asked conversationally, "You fuck a lot of guys after me, Brucie?"

"No. No one."

"How come?"

"Didn't want anybody else."

"Hmm. You keep your dick pretty busy with all those debutantes and super models, though, huh?"

"I--well, yeah."

The Joker laughed nastily. "Good for you."

"What about you?" Bruce asked.

"Same. Oh, not the super model part. Guys, I mean. I never met anyone else that I wanted up my ass."

"How sweet."

The Joker grinned. "Well, I set my standards pretty high after you. Back then, I was--uh, let's just say it took me a long time to take any more chances." He dipped the cloth into the water and squeezed a stream over his shoulders. "Besides, I never met anyone that caught my eye. Not like you. The very first time I saw you--well, you _are_ a handsome devil, aren't you?" He took Bruce's face in his hand and turned it from side to side. "Yeah, I'd forgotten just how gorgeous you really are." He made a noise of admiration and went back to washing under Bruce's arms. He flinched as it tickled. The Joker gave a half-smile. "Sorry."

"What about girls?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, well, there've been a few, here and there."

"Yeah? No one special?"

The Joker shrugged. "There was someone."

Bruce looked at him. He was studiously attending to his task and didn't meet Bruce's eyes.

"Tell me about her."

"No, thanks. It's boring--and irrelevant. In the past, over and done."

"I'd like to hear, anyway."

"Why? What difference does it make?"

"Give me a break, Jack. I've spent ten years wondering what happened to you. I want to know."

The Joker grinned. "Ah, yes. You want to know about these." He gestured at his scars."

"Of course I do. But not just that--I want to know--everything."

"You think that'll...explain things for you? Hmm?"

"Maybe. I don't know, why don't you tell me and we'll see?"

The Joker stopped and sat back on his heels, considering. Finally, he nodded.

"Ok. What the hell. Yeah, there was 'someone special.' In fact, I was married for a while."

"_Married?_ Oh, my God."

The Joker gave a small smile. "This was a long time ago. A pretty little brunette. Broke my fucking heart." His expression became blank as he plunged the washcloth in the water, wrung it out, and re-lathered the soap. He started to wash Bruce's chest, but Bruce squirmed, trying to look at his face.

"What happened?"

"She died."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Jack. How did she--?"

"I killed her."

Bruce's heart sank. "You murdered your wife?" he whispered.

The Joker leaned on the edge of the tub and cast his eyes upward toward the ceiling. "No, not exactly. Look, this is pathetic. I'm going to get all sad and weepy and then my makeup will run. Why don't we talk about baseball or the stock market or something, huh?"

"Don't fuck with me, Jack. Tell me."

"Hmm... I did promise to tell you how I got these scars, didn't I?"

Bruce nodded.

"All right." He went back to wiping the washcloth over Bruce's chest and belly. "Well, you know, I had to leave Gotham with my tail between my legs. Hadn't a clue where to go, what to do. But my little pal Benny--remember him, from the old place?--he'd given me the name of a guy in Chicago--"

"Chicago?"

"Yeah. So I drove and drove all night and all day, and never looked back. I found the guy, and he gave me a job, delivering drugs--real chump work, but, you know, it was something." He paused to brush a strand of hair out of his face. "I was quick and smart, and I got started selling the shit pretty quickly. Small time but--I'm a good salesman, Bruce."

"Were you using drugs?" Bruce asked. Even if his aunt had lied about Jack being in trouble with a dealer, it wouldn't have surprised him if Jack had started taking drugs back then.

"Not the stuff I was handling. No way. I played around with it when I was thirteen years old, and never again. Makes you weak, makes you stupid. No, no, no. I liked selling it. Liked seeing what it did to people, how it made them act when they couldn't get it. Made me feel like a goddamn savior to those freaks. Anyway, apparently I did a good job because, over the years I rose up in the organization. Eventually, I met the head man--a guy named Frank. Well, Frank set me up dealing." He paused to rinse the cloth again, then continued. "So, things are going along pretty well, I'm making a name for myself, then one day--I meet this real pretty little girl working in Frank's office."

Jack's voice had taken on a more tender tone, and Bruce smiled. "What was her name?"

"Wendy. Like in Peter Pan, she said. Oh, she was a cutie-pie. Most adorable little bi-polar junkie you ever saw."

"Damn."

"Yeah, well. She was also Frank's niece."

"His niece?"

"Yeah. Her daddy sent her to stay with her uncle Frank to get her away from some boy back home."

"Which was?"

"Gotham."

"Who--who was her father?"

"Sal Maroni."

Bruce stared. "Shit."

"Yeah. And, he would have probably just, heh, 'disposed 'of the young man, except he was Carmine Falcone's boy, and Maroni was next in line in the operation. It's never a good idea to off your boss's kid if you want to rise up the ladder, you know."

"True."

"So, he sent her to Chicago to work for her Uncle Frank. And I fell in fucking love with her."

"Aw."

"Um-hmm. Well. It was great. She was--amazing. Smart, funny...sweet." He sat back again, letting the cloth drip into the tub. He stared at something past Bruce's shoulder, biting his lip. "I kept her supplied with the stuff she needed, and we fucked like rabbits. It was--a symbiotic relationship." He grinned evilly for a moment. "What a little wild cat." He shook his head in genuine amazement and Bruce found he was grinning as well. Then one day, she tells me she's pregnant."

Bruce's mouth fell open. "Jack--you have a kid?"

"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. So, she's pregnant. Now, this'll show you how amazing she was. She's been sticking a needle in her veins every day for like, three years. But she stops--goes cold turkey. I held her for eighteen hours straight while she de-toxed, sweating, puking, shitting, screaming. But when she came out of it, she was _fine. _She didn't touch the stuff anymore, nothing, do you understand what I'm saying? She was clean, and she did it on her own. She never used _anything_, not even an aspirin or a glass of wine, while the kid was inside her.

"So then--everything's great again. We get married. Big Italian wedding, all the bells and whistles. Sal and his wife come and they like me. They decide we should go back to Gotham so they can be near their grandchild. I tell Sal, there are, uh, 'people' who don't want me there. He says it's not a problem, he'll take care of it. He gives me a new name, a new identity--same job, though. So, we move back, get a little place of our own, I'm dealing drugs, she's got her belly out to here and bam, one day I'm a daddy." The Joker pulled Bruce's right leg up and began scrubbing behind his knee.

"Now, we had the most beautiful baby girl you ever saw. Named Amanda Marie. Blue eyes, dark hair--like her mama." He smiled, and there was no cynicism or sarcasm in it, just a slight wistfulness. "I used to hold her, she was like this--" Jack laid the cloth on the tub and held his hands in front of him, showing Bruce how small his daughter had been--"She fit just like that. I'd rock her and give her a bottle. She'd fall asleep on my shoulder..." He dropped his hands as if the invisible child had disappeared before his eyes. He looked lost for a moment, then rubbed his eyes, grimacing. He shook his head and continued.

"So, I'm noticing Wendy's not doing so great. Something called 'post-partum depression' or some such shit. She's struggling, you know? Trying to be happy, but not making it. I tell her, go to the doctor, let's get you some happy pills or something, but she says, no. She doesn't want drugs, had enough of that, wants to do it on her own. 'I love you, Jack,' she says. 'I can do it, I'll do it for you, and for Mandy." He looked at Bruce.

"Now, I don't take my work home with me. Never. I don't want the shit in the house, not with my baby there, not with my wife. But one day, I fuck up. Something happened, I don't even remember what, but I forget and bring my bag in the house, and there's a kilo of pure heroin in in. I get a call--Maroni wants everyone at his place, pronto, something's going down with this other organization, so I rush out of the house. I'm gone, maybe eight hours. Then I come home." His voice faltered.

"I come home. I call out, but no answer. I go into the bedroom, and there's Wendy on the bed with Mandy. Taking a nap, I think. But they don't look right. Too--still. I get closer, and I see the baby's blue. She's all cuddled up in her mama's arms, her little face pressed against her--she couldn't breathe. And Wendy--I see a needle on the nightstand. I see my fucking bag on the chair. She overdosed, Bruce. She overdosed and died, and my daughter died with her. Because of me. Because of...me."

He stared at the floor, running his wet hand through his hair. Bruce ached to take him in his arms.

"Jack--" he said softly. "It wasn't your fault."

The Joker raised his eyes and for a brief moment, Bruce saw anger. He turned his head to the side, fighting for control.

"Well, Sal Maroni didn't agree with you."

"You mean--"

"When he found out what happened, he had his goons work me over. He watched while they did this to me," he said, pointing at each scar. "They finished up by stabbing me--a little more serious than the job I did on you, by the way--and left me to bleed to death on Maroni's living room floor.

"They should have let me go." He was smiling now, but it was a sick, bizarre smile and it sent a chill through Bruce.

"What happened? Who saved you?"

"Maroni's wife. She--I don't know, she didn't blame me, somehow. She told me later that Wendy couldn't be saved, and that as far as she was concerned, I'd given her a little more time with her. She got me to the hospital, and so on and so on. She convinced Sal that I would be of use to him, that I would be ready to take on a tougher job."

"Doing what?"

"Hits. And I was. Starting with the guys that cut me." He grinned more normally and went back to soaping Bruce's legs and feet. "It was surprisingly easy. I really took to it. You know, there's nothing like finding what you were born to do and getting paid for it." He fell silent and focused on his work.

Bruce sighed and shifted in the tub as the washcloth moved up his leg toward his groin.

***


	26. What's Bred in the Bone

**A/N: I meant to get this posted yesterday, but too much going on! Anyway, thank you to everyone reading, and thanks so much for the reviews, I really appreciate you guys.**

**WARNING: A lot of sex in this one. A..._ lot_. Kind of non-con, sort of. And, bad words. So, you know, be aware of that.**

**Reeniecat**

Bruce closed his eyes. The Joker was doing a workman-like job of cleaning his genital area and it felt damn good. The water was warm and the soapy scrub of the washcloth offered delicious friction. He felt helpless, but, absurdly, somehow safe in the hands of the man who had stabbed him. He knew it was crazy, but everything about the last few days was crazy, and his already over-taxed body slipped into a state of much-needed relaxation.

The Joker smiled down at his captive. So beautiful... So much time gone by, so much lost. He shook his head, then noted that Bruce's cock had come to life, and his grin broadened.

"Oh, my, my. Brucie, look at this, something's happened to your boy-thing! See? It's gotten all hard and long, and, uh, _thick_--" He dropped the cloth and took Bruce in his hand, experimentally squeezing and stroking in mock wonder, as if he'd never seen such a thing before in his life. Bruce opened his eyes as he stifled a groan along with the need to thrust into the clown's hand.

"You bastard, you meant for this to happen all along, didn't you? How can you--after talking about your past? Was any of that even true?"

The Joker's teasing expression fell away. "It was all true, and so what. As I said, it's irrelevant." He stopped fondling Bruce and gestured with both hands. "Just another boring tear-jerker about people that died for no reason. Happens all the time." He leaned closer to Bruce's face, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "We're here now, you and I. We're _here_--that's all that matters." He took Bruce's face in his hand, tilted it back and licked a line from his collarbone up to his jaw, finishing with a sharp nip. "And I, for one, could use a good fuck. How about you?"

"No..."

The Joker chuckled and reached to the end of the tub to pull out the stopper. "'No?' Wrong answer." As the water drained away, he stood and began taking off his wet clothes. "Tell me, Bruce, is it rape if _you_ fuck _me?" _Bruce shot a look of disgust toward him, but his mouth fell open when he saw the long, jagged scar that ran from high on the Joker's ribs to low on his belly.

"Jesus," he gasped.

"Huh? Oh, that. Yeah, they really cut me open. Listen, you haven't lived until you've gotten a peek at your own guts. Buuut--" He was naked now, and he stepped into the tub and straddled Bruce's hips. "...you should of seen what I did to _them." _He gave a low laugh and took Bruce's cock in his hand, this time stroking him with firm assurance, quickly bringing him to a full erection. He reached down beside the tub for his pants and dug in his pockets until he found a condom and a small tube of lubricant. He opened the package, slipped the condom over Bruce's straining erection, and slicked him up.

Bruce maintained a laser-like stare into the Joker's eyes. "I guess if you're bothering with a condom, you have some thoughts of the future."

"Nah, I just hate getting a case of the clap, and God knows where your dick's been."

He smirked as he lowered himself onto Bruce's member, easing it inside himself, grunting as he was penetrated by its length. Bruce gave up any pretense of resistance and waited until he was fully seated, then began thrusting his hips upward, wanting to go even deeper inside the slick warm channel. The Joker moved with him, rocking his hips up and down, then leaned forward, supporting himself by grasping the edge of the tub, and allowed Bruce to bang into him from below. Bruce desperately wished he had the use of his hands, that they were on a bed where he could flip the clown under him and really pound into him, but this was good. Good enough.

The Joker took his own cock in hand and began stroking himself. Bruce had a moment of hyper-self-awareness, and was struck by the irrationality of the situation--being ridden by a maniacal clown and loving every minute of it--when the Joker climaxed, spurting over Bruce's belly and chest. He sat there for a moment, recovering, then rose and stepped out of the tub. He removed the condom, then cleaned up Bruce's stomach with the cloth.

"That's it?" Bruce asked bitterly. "We're done? Not very polite, leaving me hanging."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll take care of you. I just wanted to get a little more comfortable." He pulled on his pants, jammed the gun in the back of his waistband, then unlocked the cuffs.

He helped Bruce get up and out, holding onto his wrists in a strong grip, then re-cuffed him from behind. He wrapped a towel around Bruce's waist and led him back to the bedroom. He yanked down the towel and forced him onto the bed and secured his hands to the headboard again. He then lay down next to him, leaned over and took him in his mouth.

Bruce again was overtaken with the incapacitating mixture of pleasure and helplessness, and he closed his eyes, thrusting into the warm wet suction. The Joker was infuriatingly slow, taking time to lick and bite at him rather than bring him to a quick release, but he finally stepped up the pace and Bruce groaned as he blindly ejaculated into his mouth.

"Aw, fuck," he wheezed. He laughed slightly when he saw the remnants of bright red paint smudged on his penis, and he looked up at the clown grinning down at him.

"So, tell me now, Brucie--is this rape?' the Joker teased.

"I--no, I guess not."

"Well, how about this?" He again reached for his trousers and brought out another condom and the lube. Bruce saw that the Joker's erection had returned, and he suddenly realized what was about to happen. He felt a sense of panic rise in his chest, along with a rush of excitement.

The Joker poured a glob of gel onto his fingers and slid the middle one into Bruce. He gasped and recoiled, but after a moment forced himself to give in, to relax. He stared out the window, letting the long-forgotten sensation of being entered wash over him. The Joker continued to prepare him, stroking inside, probing deeper, until Bruce was moving in rhythm with his touch. It was strange yet familiar, and he could almost sense the presence of a young Jack, anxiously preparing him for this act so many years ago, worried he would hurt him, wanting to please him...

"Look at me." The voice was low, but commanding. Bruce turned his gaze to the Joker. He wasn't smiling but he leaned forward and kissed him. "You ok? You want this, don't you? Think you're ready?" He sounded almost genuinely concerned, and Bruce nodded. The Joker fumbled with the condom, then lubricated himself. He pulled Bruce's legs up to his waist, then used one hand to guide his erection into the bound man. Bruce groaned, and found himself eagerly arching upward, into the thrust. The Joker supported himself on outstretched arms and slid in and out with long, deep strokes. Bruce futilely yanked against the cuffs, and gave a cry of frustration when the Joker bit into the soft flesh of his neck, then down onto his shoulder, to his nipples.

A whispered "Just like old times, huh?" from the Joker. Bruce gave a small, scornful laugh.

"Not really, Jack. Not really."

"Hmm." He went back to thrusting, increasing his speed. Bruce sank back into the softness of the mattress, accepting the pleasure, wishing it were another time and place. The Joker finally came and after lowering his full weight onto Bruce for a long moment, pulled out and rolled over beside him.

"Well. That was... fun, don't you think? Although, I may be too old to be queer. My ass is sore."

Bruce couldn't help but laugh and the Joker grinned and wrapped himself around him. "There, that's more like it," he said approvingly.

"I've missed you, Jack." Bruce pressed a kiss against the painted forehead before he caught himself. The Joker gave a derisive snort but burrowed his face into Bruce's neck. Bruce's side hurt, and he realized he was exhausted. He looked down at the Joker's chest and saw a patch of dark blond hair and grinned.

"Last time I saw you, you didn't have a single hair on your chest," he murmured. He lay his head against the Joker's, closed his eyes and asked, "When did you stop loving me?"

A huff of exasperation. "Maybe I never did love you. Maybe I just liked the sex, and the money."

"You never gave a shit about my money. You never asked me for anything. I'd have given you whatever you wanted, anything. But, you didn't ask, you never even liked letting me pay for your meals--"

"How about you shut up?" the Joker said, nestling closer.

"Is that what this is all about--money? Are you holding me for ransom, do you need cash? Please, just tell me what you want and I can--"

"No, no, no, it's not that simple. I don't want your money, and the time hasn't come to reveal your purpose just yet. Relax. Can't you just lie back and enjoy the moment? Jeeze, I haven't gotten laid in months, you'd think--"

"I never stopped loving _you_. It's not too late, Jack. I know I can help you. Let me go, let's figure this out. If you'd turn yourself in, I'd get you the best lawyers... We'd make a case for insanity, they'd put you in psychiatric care. I bet you'd be out in a few years, I bet we could start over--"

"You always were the idealist. The answer is 'no.' Too late for that, Brucie. Too late."

"No--the man you killed on that video, that's the only murder that there's any evidence against you for. Even kidnapping Rachel, your mental state would be taken into account. We could show you weren't in your right mind--"

"Stop. Stop. Right mind? Listen--when I was a kid, I got caught breaking into a car. The owner surprised me, and he grabbed me and shoved me on the ground. I thought he'd beat the shit out of me, but he didn't. He just looked at me and said, 'It's not too late for you, kid. Don't ruin your life.' He made me promise I'd straighten up and he let me go. Well, let me tell you something. _It was too late then_. What's bred in the bone, and all that.

"Anyway, I tried, I really did. You know I did. What difference did it make? Some things just _are. _Doesn't matter how you try, what you do. Nothing matters. The ending's already written." He sighed and gathered Bruce closer. Bruce's heart felt as if it were breaking all over again, and he tried to think of something else to say, of some way to save this man. They lay there tangled together for a long time, then the Joker became restless and sat up.

"Hey, what's on TV at this hour? Let's take a look." He reached over Bruce for the remote and flicked on the set. Bruce was still weak from his wound, from blood loss, from sex, from stress. He settled against the Joker and gradually dozed, falling into a twilight state where he was half dreaming, half conscious. He heard the TV voices droning, a commercial, a sitcom, then a news feed. Stocks were down that quarter, Philly took the Mets 21-19, fifty percent chance of rain... Suddenly, he heard his name and he roused himself enough to cast a bleary eye toward the television.

"Billionaire Bruce Wayne, missing since Thursday, is now presumed dead. DNA evidence found in his house indicates that he was murdered. Police have in custody a Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne's longtime butler and the sole heir to his massive estate." Bruce stared in horror as footage of Alfred being brought out of the house in handcuffs and led to a police cruiser filled the television screen.

"Mr. Wayne's body has not yet been found, but police state that an informant suggested that Mr. Wayne's death may have been the result of a murder-for-hire plot put into motion by Mr. Pennyworth. Alfred Pennyworth has stated that he is innocent."

Bruce turned to the Joker. He was sitting up, pursing his lips together in barely contained glee. _"What did you do?"_ he hissed from between gritted teeth.

"Me? Nothing! I've been right here, haven't I?"

Bruce twisted desperately against the unyielding steel restraints as the Joker erupted into peal after peal of maniacal laughter.


	27. Heartbroken

**A/N: As always, so very sorry to take such a long time to update. This chapter is mostly action, no sexy stuff... Please review, pretty please! Thanks!**

**Reeniecat**

*****

A few days passed. The Joker was still Bruce's only human contact, and he seemed to take delight in caring for him. He enjoyed dressing him as he pleased and chatting amiably with him, promising to take him outside for walks soon. He brought him treats of candy and cookies from time to time. He didn't make any further sexual advances, perhaps sensing that Bruce was too fragile to be an enthusiastic lover, or even a worthy adversary, for that matter.

Time seemed to ebb and flow surrealistically for Bruce. The Joker gave him no hint as to what his plans were for him, but he vaguely supposed he intended to wear him down and let Stockholm syndrome set it, or some such thing. He was grateful when the Joker began to take him downstairs during the day to give him a change of scenery. Although he was improving physically, Bruce was so emotionally drained that he docilely accepted being treated like a favored pet, but the one thing that kept him focused was Alfred's plight.

No amount of pleading on Bruce's part could persuade the Joker to intervene in the hell that Alfred was going through as the number one suspect in Bruce's supposed murder. He always left a television on, giving Bruce ample information as to the progress of the case. As Assistant DA, Rachel was interviewed more than once, and the pain in her eyes at being involved in the prosecution against her old friend was palpable. Bruce's heart felt torn by this, and even more so by the images of Alfred's worn, weary features. One day, he stared bitterly at the Joker when he came to remove Bruce's lunch tray.

"Why are you doing this to Alfred? He's an old man. Look at him--the stress of this could kill him."

"Aw, wouldn't that be too bad?" The Joker's jaw was clenched as he leaned down to look Bruce in the eye. "You know, this has all gone in a completely different direction than I expected; I thought what happened between us was all your fault, and I was going to set things straight. But now I know the truth--it was your damn butler.

"How much pain did he cause me? How much did he cause you? Did he give a shit? Letting me think you wanted me out of your life--I could have committed suicide, would he have cared? No. So, don't give me that poor Alfred bullshit. He's getting what he deserves." The Joker's lips curled into a cruel smile as he left Bruce with the news updates on Alfred's first bail hearing before a judge.

More pain washed over Bruce. The Joker was right, to a degree; even Bruce himself couldn't help but feel rage at the man who had withheld the truth about his aunt's scheme for all that time, letting him think the love of his life had left him without a word. But, Bruce still had compassion, still had the ability to forgive. The Joker, apparently, had none of that.

Whatever hope Bruce had had of rehabilitating Jack Ramsey was killed off by the sight of Alfred's face on the TV screen.

*****

One day, to Bruce's surprise, one of the Joker's henchmen brought him his lunch. Chained to a chair in the living room, Bruce mused that he recognized the man--he had seen him lumber past the window several times. He was an old biker, judging by his tattoos and heavily worn motorcycle jacket.

An idea struck Bruce.

"Where's your boss today?" he asked, conversationally.

"Not supposed to talk to you," the man muttered as he set up a tray for Bruce's meal. He unlocked one cuff so that Bruce could feed himself, then sat back with a gun trained on his head.

"Of course. Well, I guess he's a busy guy. He must take good care of his men, huh?" Bruce stared pointedly at a deep, raw gash along the side of the man's face. He shrugged.

"I imagine this must be a pretty good gig, but--do you ever miss riding?" Another shrug. "I know I do. Haven't been in a few months. Nothing like hitting the open road, feeling all that power between your legs. What kind of rig do you have?" The whiskered biker's eyes lit up a little.

"Used to have a 1981 ratted out FXR 1340. Don't have it no more, though."

"Pity. That's a nice ride. I've got a 1942 Panhead myself, black, in mint condition."

The man leaned forward, excitement shimmering in his eyes. "Oh, wow. Those are hard to find."

"No kidding. I lucked out--won it off a poker buddy of mine. He had tears in his eyes when he handed me the keys."

The man nodded enthusiastically. "I bet! Man, I'd just like to take a look at one of those babies up close someday."

Bruce paused as he was about to take a bite of his sandwich and gave the man an appraising look. "Say, what's your name, friend?"

"Ray."

"Ray--how'd you like to _own_ that bike?"

Ray stared. "Huh?"

"Sure. I never thought I'd give it up--it's one of my most prized possessions. But, as you can see, I'm in a bit of a--well, a _situation. _If you help me escape, I'll give you the bike and enough cash to get you safe and sound to Mexico--what do you think?"

Ray shook his head dubiously. "No way, man. You don't know the boss--he'd hunt me down and kill me for sure. And, it wouldn't be no fun how he'd do it."

"Not if we act fast. Just get me out of these chains, we'll get in a car and go--I'll take you straight to my place, give you the bike and the money, and you'll be on your way before the Joker knows we're gone." Bruce's face was placid, but his heart was racing. He watched Ray's face as the man considered the risk versus the reward he was being offered.

Ray looked around uncertainly. "How much cash?"

"I can get my hands on $100,000 immediately, and once I get home, it's yours."

A look of resolve overcame Ray's weathered features. "Well, what the hell. Like the Indians say, it's a good day to die, ain't it?"

Bruce nodded and smiled. Ray fished keys from his pocket, stuck the gun in his pants, then clicked open first the cuffs, then the chains binding Bruce to the chair. The billionaire stood up and assessed his condition. His mind was a little fuzzy and his body was still weak, not only from the knife wound but now from inactivity, and the biker was large and burly. But, he'd been in much worse shape than this, and overcome much greater odds. He knew what to do.

Ray motioned toward the door with the gun.

Bruce started walking, gathering his strength and straining to put his mind in the place he had learned from his old mentor, Henri Ducard. By the time they reached the exit, Bruce was ready. He turned and kicked the gun out of Ray's hand, then, lightening-fast, struck him in the neck with a blow that immediately knocked the man unconscious. Bruce grabbed his keys and the gun, then strode out to the row of dilapidated vehicles parked by the house. He picked one that matched the key and jumped in; to his relief, the key worked, and there was even gas in the tank.

Bruce began making his way down the unpaved drive, when he saw someone come around the back of the house. Thomas Schiff peered at the driver and ran toward the driver's side door, yelling "Where the hell do you think you're going? Come back!" He pulled a gun and shot toward Bruce's head; Bruce hastily returned fire, being careful not to actually hit the man. He saw Schiff pull back and watched the former mental patient take a cell phone out of his pocket.

"Damn it," Bruce thought, "he's calling the Joker." Bruce sped down the driveway, gaining enough speed to burst through the locked gate and make it out onto the road. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Schiff following in another vehicle. Bruce floored the accelerator, but the car didn't have much pick up and Schiff began to gain on him. Bruce took the first turn that came up and put the car into a skid that sent it into a spin, turning him to face Schiff as he approached. Bruce aimed the pistol and shot the driver's side tire--Schiff's car screeched as he slammed on the brakes, then flipped over into the ditch. Bruce drove around the wrecked vehicle and quickly put as many miles between the two of them as he could coax out of the balky old sedan.

*****

The Joker was standing with his gun trained on a shaking bank manager. The man was babbling about the time-lock on the safe when the Joker's phone rang. He rolled his eyes, and motioned to one of his minions to take over. "Excuse me just a minute," he said to his victim. "I have to take this call. Be right back!" He flipped the phone open. "Yeah?"

"Boss! Wayne got away!"

A pleased look came over the Joker's face. "Did he, now? That Bruce. I knew I could count on him to make things interesting. All right, Thomas, see what you can do about slowing him down--I'm on my way." The Joker strode back and shot the unhelpful bank manager in the leg, and the man screamed. The Joker took aim at the other leg, but the man hastily began spinning the combination on the vault lock. When he had it open, the Joker nodded with satisfaction.

"You boys know what to do. See you back at the house." The Joker headed out and relieved a stopped motorist of his vehicle, leaving the van for his cohorts. He drove toward Bruce's penthouse.

*****

Bruce's mind was racing. He needed to get a call in to Jim Gordon or Rachel, to let them know he was alive, but he had no cell phone and he had no intention of stopping just yet. He had no idea where he was, what direction Gotham was in, nor how near the Joker might be. He came upon a sign indicating that a town was nearby, and headed in that direction. He found a town square with a sidewalk cafe where several people were eating. One man was chatting on his cell phone.

Bruce didn't know who he could trust, and he didn't want to take a chance on someone reporting back to the Joker. He parked the car in an alley, and went into ninja mode. He waited until the man was off the phone, then easily swiped it, along with his car keys. The man never noticed when his own vehicle, parked a few doors away, was started up and driven past him.

Bruce made it back onto the road heading out of town, and found a sign for Gotham; he sped in that direction and began making calls.

*****

Bruce arrived at the bat cave, drove underground and sealed the exit, then quickly donned the bat suit and prepared himself as best he could for whatever it was that would be coming next. He opened up the feed from the security monitors and surveyed the interior and the exterior of the penthouse.

He almost missed it.

He clicked back several frames on the feed from his bedroom. There, almost out of range of the camera, sat the Joker, seated on the couch as if in a doctor's waiting room, idly flipping through a magazine. Batman shook his head and took the elevator that accessed the first floor of the penthouse, then got out and took the stairs. He moved silently to the room and paused in front of the door. He didn't think the Joker would shoot him, and even if he did, he was protected to some degree by his Kevlar, but he didn't want to give him any more warning than necessary. He steeled himself, then burst into the room, striding directly to the purple-clad man on the couch.

No weapon in sight, the Joker looked up and a wry smile played across his lips. "Well, _there_ you are. I've been waiting for you for ages. I--" His thought was cut short by Batman grabbing him, jerking him to his feet and wrestling a pair of cuffs onto the thin wrists, binding his hands behind his back. Batman forced him face down onto the couch and pulled a radio out of his utility belt, preparing to call Gordon.

"Well, you certainly know how to get to the point," the Joker commented, his voice muffled slightly by a pillow.

"Shut up." Batman yanked him around so he could look him in the face. "I told you, I wanted to help you. I wanted to give you every chance to turn this mess around. But, that wasn't your choice. So now I'm turning you over to the police."

"Yeah--you sure do have me where you want me!" The Joker's grin deepened and he winked.

"What?"

"Well, I figured you'd be a little out of sorts when we got together again, so I took some, uh, measures, to guarantee that you'd be in more of a listening mood."

"What 'measures?'"

"Let's just say there's going to be a lot of disappointed crossword addicts at the breakfast table tomorrow morning."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I need a few minutes of your time, to explain things. If I don't get it, the Gotham Daily News will reach a greater circulation than ever before. Well, little tiny pieces of it, anyway."

"Talk."

"It's simple. I thought you dumped me for this city, but I was wrong. It was the city that screwed things up between us. So, it's up to us to make things right.

"It's unfortunate that we're on opposite sides of the playing field now, but that's ok. Look at what I've done for you--you're dead! You've got a clean slate. You can be anyone you want. We can finally be together, it can be just the way it was supposed to be all along."

Batman stared incredulously. "You mean to tell me, you think I'll throw away my life and live the way you do?"

The Joker rose to his feet so that they were nose to nose. "I don't expect you to get involved in my lifestyle, Bats. I can see you being the stay-at-home husband, having dinner ready when I get in from a hard day of demolishing the transit system--"

"You really are insane."

"No. It's all very clear to me. Something was taken from us--our future--and this is our chance to get it back. And, after I show this town its true colors, we can get the hell out--leave the country, disappear, start over! Anything you want."

"Oh, I see, leave Alfred to rot in prison, leave Rachel, leave everything that means anything to me--"

"Alfred will be fine, it's all circumstantial. And, what's more important to you than me? Hmm? You once told me you loved me more than anything else in the world, that you'd do anything I asked of you--so now I'm asking. Yeah, throw it all away. Be with me. Disappear. We'll make a life together--"

"A life based on madness, on destruction--"

The Joker broke into laughter. "On chaos! Yes, why not, what else is there?" He leaned in closer and Batman could see the irrationality shimmering in his still-beautiful eyes. "What happens with an unstoppable force joins up with an immovable object? Wouldn't you like to find out?"

Batman stood stiffly, the pain in his heart now almost crippling. A part of him longed to say "Yes," to throw his arms around the man who had taken with him every bit of love he could ever feel ten years ago. But, looking at the smeared makeup and the mad eyes, he knew it was hopeless. Jack was gone, Jack was gone... Batman's voice rasped more harshly than usual.

"No. Whatever I felt for you died with Jack. There's no future for me and the Joker. I'm turning you over to the Gotham Criminal Justice system where you belong. I don't know what will happen to you, and I don't care. It's out of my hands, now."

Batman held his radio up to his mouth and called, "Gordon--I've got him. Come up."

*****

The door slammed open and a team of flak-jacketed officers with guns drawn poured into the room. Jim Gordon was behind them.

Batman gave the Joker a shove toward the officers, and the lead man reached out to take the Joker's arm. But, Batman realized too late, the clown had managed to get out of the cuffs with a pin he kept in his sleeve. He pulled a gun from his waist and he grabbed the officer instead, pressing the weapon against his neck.

"Ok, Bats. So--you turned me down. Great, now my heart's fucking broken again. But, just let me get out of here and this officer will live another day. Can't say the same for the fine team of journalists at the Gotham Daily News, though!" Cackling, the Joker pulled a cell phone out of his pocket with his free hand, and punched a few buttons.

Before Batman could shout "No!", a ground-shaking "boom" was heard. A civil defense siren followed. Everyone stood stunned for a moment, then Gordon began barking orders into his radio.

"Good thing you can get up-to-the-minute coverage on Gotham Cable News, eh?" the Joker laughed as he dragged his hostage past the rest of the officers, and out into the hall. Batman followed and as the Joker stood at the top of the long, elegant stairway, Batman called "Joker! Wait!"

"Don't play with this man's life, Bats, that's really irresponsible of you--"

Batman shot a Batarang at the Joker's face and simultaneously grabbed the officer's arm. The Joker's gun went off harmlessly into the ceiling, and time seemed to slow down for Batman as he watched the Joker tumbling down the stairs, his body making a series of sickening, dull thuds. He landed in a broken heap at the very bottom step.

From the top, Batman watched numbly as a pool of blood instantly began to form around the Joker's green-haired head.


	28. In the Hospital

**A/N: Once again, all apologies for the long time between updates. This is just a real busy time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and would very much appreciate reviews. Thank you so much for reading!**

**Reeniecat**

******

Bruce settled awkwardly into the hospital easy chair. It was supposed to double as a make-shift cot for overnight visitors, but it felt more like a medieval torture device.

Earlier that morning, Jim Gordon had frowned at Bruce's request to stay.

"What the hell, Bruce? We're keeping an officer on watch, we don't need your help. Why would you want to be in the same room with that maniac ever again?"

Bruce had looked Gordon in the eye. "I know this is going to be hard for you to believe--but the Joker is our old friend, Jack Ramsey."

Jim's eyes had widened and he was silent for a moment before striding to the Joker's side and taking a long look at the scarred face. He'd shaken his head, amazed. "What on earth happened to him? My God, he just disappeared off the face of the earth--and now he's come to this?"

"I--I really don't know. Something terrible must have happened." Bruce had no intention of revealing just how much he knew about Jack's past. "He's not the same person we used to know, that much I can tell you."

"Apparently. So, why do you want to stay here? He kidnapped you, he set off a bomb, he--"

"We used to be friends." The tightness in Bruce's throat had made him pause for a second to take a deep breath. "He doesn't have anyone else. I want to be there when he wakes up. If he wakes up."

Jim had given Bruce a questioning stare. "That's very humanitarian of you. But, you need to consider the consequences of your actions. What did he want from you--money? Some sort of revenge? There's no telling what he'll do, what he'll say, now that his plan's been thwarted. You don't need to be associated with a man like that."

Bruce had laughed. "Funny, that's what everyone told me in high school."

"Well, maybe we were right." Jim had run a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying, be careful. He's capable of anything, and my advice is to distance yourself from him completely."

"I'm sure you're right. But, I just... I just want to see him one more time. Before he goes to prison, or whatever it is that the courts will decide." He'd turned and looked Jim in the eye. "We were very close, once."

Jim had nodded. He'd heard the rumors back in high school, although he had always dismissed them. "Just be careful."

*****

Bruce now stared at the still, slight figure covered with a blanket, bandaged, hooked up to various machines and IV drips. He thought back to the moment when Batman had made it to the Joker's side--he'd thought he was dead. The pool of blood leaking from the back of his head was growing wider, and there was no movement, not a twitch, not a jerk, but one of the officers had found a weak pulse and an ambulance was called. In the chaos of the bombing, it took a long time for one to get there.

It was miraculous that no one had died in the blast at the News. Bruce learned from one of Gordon's men that the Joker must have carefully planned for a time when no one would be in the part of the building where he planted the bomb, and while that wing was destroyed, the only injuries were to a couple of security guards who would suffer ringing in their ears for days.

Bruce sighed. After getting things straightened out for Alfred, he and Rachel had fallen into each other's arms and sobbed in relief at coming to the end of all of their ordeals. Only, Bruce's tears had been for Jack, as well. Regardless of how it came out, Jack's life was over, whether due to his fall down the stairs, or as a result of his crimes, or because of his own mind.

Bruce knew he should just walk away, but he couldn't.

The thought that a spark of Jack's old light might still be inside the man wouldn't allow Bruce to leave, wouldn't allow him to give up. Not just yet.

He finally dozed off and began dreaming, dreaming of Jack. They were teenagers again, and Jack was laughing as they tried to fix something on his car. "Come on Bruce--be a man about it! Put some muscle into it!" he'd teasingly chided as Bruce gave up on turning the wrench.

"It's frozen solid! There's no way we'll ever fix this!"

"I can fix it--with your help! Come on, help me, Bruce! Just--help me... Help me..."

The soft warmth of Jack's voice seemed to fade, and in his sleep, Bruce felt a catch in his throat as he stifled a sob. His love was slipping away, slipping away from him--the sorrow stabbed him so hard, he woke up, and heard a moan coming from the direction of the bed.

Bruce stood and went to the Joker's side. One eye was swollen shut, the other slightly open and he appeared to be trying to speak.

"It's ok. Don't talk." Bruce awkwardly patted his hand, one of the few parts of him not covered in bandages.

"Bruce..." he rasped.

"I'm here."

"Hurts..."

"Ok. I'll get a nurse. Lie still."

The Joker's eye wandered around the room for a moment, then he fell back into unconsciousness. Bruce pressed the call button and a nurse came in and checked his meds and made an adjustment. The officer monitored everything. Bruce sat down again.

A few hours passed and the Joker's doctor came in.

"I hear he woke up for a moment."

"Yes."

"That's a good sign."

Bruce nodded. "Have you determined the extent of his injuries yet?"

The doctor shrugged. "With head injuries, there's so much we can't be sure of. He sustained severe trauma to his brain. There's swelling, although there doesn't appear to be any internal bleeding. We may have to perform surgery, but that's not certain. He may be paralyzed, he could suffer a stroke, he could remain in a coma indefinitely. There's just no way of knowing at this time.

"And, he has a broken leg, three broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, plus numerous abrasions. So, he's not going anywhere, for a while." The doctor shot a look at the officer, hovering nearby. He looked back at Bruce. "Let me know if he regains consciousness."

Bruce looked down at the man in the bed, broken and vulnerable. He wished he would wake up, wished they could talk like normal people and figure things out. But he knew the Joker's chance for a normal life was long gone.

*****

Days passed. Bruce had to work, but he brought his laptop to the hospital and did as much there as possible. No one understood his devotion, least of all Alfred.

"I'm sorry, sir, I am simply at a loss. Why you feel any sort of loyalty to that--that creature, after everything he put you and I through, I will never be able to fathom." Alfred's face was red and his lips formed a thin line as he pressed them together.

"I know. I know. But, Alfred--it's Jack. Somewhere inside that--creature, as you put it, is someone I used to love. If he recovers, I can't help but hope that I can still reach him. If he doesn't--well, I just want to be there. It may be the last thing I can ever do for him."

Alfred shook his head and turned away as Bruce packed up a change of clothes and headed to the hospital to spend the night.

*****

Bruce was dreaming again. This time, he was Batman and the Joker was teetering on the edge of a tall building. "Let me go, Bats," he said. "Just let me go." He leaned back, arms outstretched, and Batman saw the purple coat flutter up around him as he toppled over the side. "No!" he screamed as he tried to run to save him. But, his legs wouldn't work and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He struggled awake and stood up to shake off the bad feeling. He stretched out his back and went to the Joker's side. To his surprise, his eyes were open.

The Joker's face relaxed when he saw Bruce and a small smile came to his lips. Bruce smiled back and said, "Hey--there you are."

A tiny nod in response. Then, his voice came in a thick, groggy rasp. "Everybody ok?"

Bruce sighed. He had no idea how to answer. He glanced over his shoulder at the guard--he didn't want him knowing the Joker was talking, not yet. He turned back and said, "You got hurt pretty badly."

Another little nod. "The car?"

Bruce frowned. "Car?"

The Joker tried to shift in the bed, but winced and gave up. "Yeah--is she totaled?"

Bruce pondered whether to go along with the apparently muddled thinking or to try to set him straight. Instead, he said, "I don't know. Do you remember what happened?"

"Car came at me. Ran off the road--turned over." The Joker stared at him, puzzled. "You know."

"Ok, Jack. It's ok. Don't worry about the car."

The Joker licked dry lips. "Water?" Bruce filled a cup and gave him a drink with a straw. He sipped gratefully and shut his eyes, and Bruce realized he was out again. He buzzed the nurse and let her know that the Joker had had another moment of consciousness.

*****

Another twenty-four hours passed, and Bruce decided to stay with the Joker. He was moaning and making small movements, and the doctor said this was a critical time--it was likely that he would either sink into a deep coma, or come out of it entirely. Bruce kept his vigil, making Alfred resentfully bring him work from home and decent take-out, although he refused to enter the Joker's room.

Bruce was busy reading emails when he heard a voice--Jack's warm voice--call his name. He snapped shut the laptop and got up. He quickly strode to the Joker's side and saw that he was fully awake for the first time. "Bruce--"

"I'm here." He tried to smile, not knowing what to expect. The Joker's face was contorted in pain.

"My head hurts real bad. And, I can't move. What happened?" He searched Bruce's face and held his gaze with a bewildered expression.

"You don't remember?"

"I was..in a hurry, trying to get to work. This car came out of nowhere--a woman and two kids. I swerved--I think I missed them, but I ran into the ditch. I must of turned over...everything's blank after that. Were they ok? I didn't hit them, did I?" Worried eyes bored into Bruce's and he stammered, trying to respond.

"You--you think you were in a car accident?"

"Are you mad at me? I didn't mean to wreck the car. I know you think I'm a shitty driver, but I--" The Joker choked slightly and began to cough and his eyes swam with pain. "Ow. My head really hurts, can I have some aspirin or something?"

"I'll get the nurse." Bruce noticed the guard watching and he whispered, "Stay quiet until I get back, ok?" The Joker nodded and Bruce headed for the nurse's station.

"He's awake. But, he doesn't seem to remember anything--he thinks he's been in a car accident." The nurse paged the doctor, and after a few minutes, he came to the desk.

"What's happened?"

Bruce recounted his conversation with the Joker and the doctor nodded. "Amnesia isn't unusual under these circumstances. He may have lost large blocks of time. As the injury to his brain improves, he should start getting his memory back. I'll go take a look at him."

The guard had already informed Jim Gordon that the Joker was conscious, and he told Bruce that he was on his way. Bruce waited until the doctor finished his exam and went back to sit with Jack. The injured man stared at Bruce questioningly.

"Am I in trouble, Bruce? How come I'm strapped down? Why's the cop here? Did I--did I hurt somebody?"

Bruce bit his lip. "Before the car accident--what's the last thing you remember?"

Jack stared up at the ceiling. Everything seemed fluid, amorphous, but there was something... He fought to grab onto it, to make it stop moving, to make it make sense.

Finally, he said, "I was late for work. I was worried about the physics test--I missed it, didn't I? I hadn't studied enough and knew I was going to blow it. I--I wanted you to help me study, but you were working for your aunt--not your fault, I just--"

Bruce spoke gently. "Jack--we're not in high school anymore."

Jack stared at him. "Huh?"

"High school was ten years ago."

Jack took a deep, pained breath and said shakily, "Something's wrong, Bruce, nothing makes sense. Nothing..." He closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness, this time from the heavy dose of pain medication. Bruce called his name a few times, but no response. He sat down to wait for Jim.

*****

"So, what, exactly, did he say?" Gordon demanded.

"He said he was in a hurry to get to work, a car came out of nowhere, he swerved and ended up in a ditch. He seems to think we're back in high school. The doctor said that's not so unusual, given the extent of his injuries."

"Or, he's taking advantage of your kindness and faking it."

Bruce thought back to the look in Jack's eyes--pain, fear, worry--and shook his head.

"He's too badly hurt for that."

Gordon made a hmph'ing sound. "I wouldn't put anything past the Joker."

"Jim--please don't try to interrogate him just yet."

"Why not? He has a lot to answer for."

"I know, but--can't you give him a little time to recover?"

"It's been two weeks, Bruce. I want a full confession from him."

Bruce bit his lip, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Isn't it possible his crimes are a result of his compromised mental state?"

"Are you suggesting he's insane?"

"It's possible. What I saw was not the person I--we--used to know. The scars speak for themselves--he's gone through some horribly traumatic experiences."

"What do you want from me, Bruce? To let him off with a slap on the wrist? He put hundreds of people's lives at risk, he kidnapped Rachel and then you, plus who knows how many other crimes he committed before all this happened? He's a common criminal, that's what I think."

"I'm just asking you to keep an open mind."

"That's my job," Gordon snapped. Just then, the doctor came out.

"You can speak to him now, but don't take too long. He's very weak."

Gordon rolled his eyes and started to go in. Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.

"I want to be in there."

"No."

"Please, Jim. If he really has lost his memory, he's not going to understand your questions, and he's going to be scared. It might help if I'm there."

Gordon considered, and the doctor nodded. Gordon sighed.

"All right. But be quiet. This is between him and me."

"I understand."

All three went into the room and Gordon approached Jack's side.

"Hello."

Jack opened his eyes, blinked, and suddenly smiled. "Hey--Jim! You came to see me. I didn't know you cared."

"I'm here to talk to you about the bombing."

Jack stared at him, bewildered. "Huh?"

"You boasted that you had placed a bomb in the Gotham News building. I need you to confirm that, and I have some additional questions regarding the kidnapping of Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne, and the plot to frame Alfred Pennyworth for murder."

Jack was watching his face and when he finished speaking, he broke into weak laughter.

"Damn, Jim, it's nice of you to try to cheer me up, but none of that makes any sense." He smiled slightly and looked past Gordon's shoulder to Bruce, then back to Gordon's grim face. "What?" he asked in a raw whisper.

"Please answer the question. Did you or did you not place a bomb in that building?"

Jack's smile faded and he bit his lower lip. "Are you serious?"

"Please answer the question."

"Bomb? I--you're kidding, right? Bruce? Why is he asking me about a bomb?"

Gordon shot a look at Bruce and he remained quiet.

"What is your answer?" Gordon persisted.

"I don't understand any of this. I'm tired, I want to go to sleep," Jack said softly. "Maybe things'll be back to normal when I wake up..."

Gordon motioned to his officer holding a note pad. "The suspect refuses to answer the question." The man jotted down the information and Gordon turned to leave. "I'll be back. I suggest you think about cooperating. That will be taken into consideration at your trial."

The door swung closed behind him and Jack looked again at Bruce. He frowned and asked, "What was that all about?"

"Jack--you weren't in a car accident. A lot of things have happened, and you're accused of setting an explosion, plus a few other things. You really can't remember?"

Jack's eyes fluttered and he said tiredly, "I remember fine. It's right now that I don't get. I'm just hallucinating, I guess. I'm going to sleep a little more. Be here when I wake up?"

"I'll be here." Bruce put his hand on his and felt a weak squeeze.

"Love you, Bruce."

Bruce's heart soared at the words, then came crashing down again. He smiled crookedly.

"Yeah... Go to sleep, now. Just go to sleep."

The doctor had listened to the entire conversation and made some notes. Bruce waited until Jack was asleep, then went out in the hall with him.

"What do you think?" Bruce asked.

"You'd know better than I. Is he telling the truth?"

Bruce drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I think so. But, I can't be sure. How can we tell?"

The doctor shrugged. "There's no definitive test to validate amnesia. At some point, I suppose he could be given a lie detector test, and the police may demand one anyway. But, I would say the people who know him best will make the most credible judges. Is there anyone else who could weigh in? Where are his parents, are there any siblings, anyone?"

Bruce shook his head. "Just me. I know him better than anyone." He looked hopelessly at the physician and shrugged.

The doctor added a note and said, "Well, we'll know more once he becomes more alert. I'll try to keep the officers from hounding him in the meantime."

Bruce nodded and decided he should grab a bite in the hospital cafeteria while Jack was asleep. Maybe with some food in his stomach, he could figure out what to do.


	29. A Hearing

**A/N: Aughhh! I am SO sorry to take so long to update, please forgive me. Thank you to everyone for reading, and for the kindly nudges from a few of you to get back to it. Here we go:**

*****

Three weeks passed. Bruce and the staff psychiatrist spent hours talking to Jack, trying to make him understand what had happened, as well as who he now was, and how much time had passed.

Jack couldn't accept any of it.

His physician felt confident that the threat of going into a coma had passed; he was even willing to speculate that Jack might be able to walk again after all. But, for now, he was confined to his hospital bed for fear of causing additional damage to his spine.

Bruce brought a hand mirror with him and showed Jack his scars. He'd shaken his head and looked lost.

"That's not me, Bruce," was all he'd said. "That's not my face."

"It is, Jack. You were brutally attacked--they carved your face. You had a wife, a child--"

Jack painfully turned his head toward Bruce and whispered, "You're all trying to drive me insane. Why? Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you, Bruce? Why won't you help me?"

"No. No. I'm trying to make you understand--"

The two stared intently at each other and then Jack closed his eyes. "I can't understand any of it. You keep saying these things to me--but they don't make any sense. Maybe I'm dead. Maybe I died in that accident, and now I'm in hell--"

Bruce sighed. He could understand how Jack might feel that way. It would be even worse when he was put into the criminal justice system.

"You have to believe me--you and I separated. You became a criminal, you did some terrible things. You're going to be tried, and will probably be found guilty. You'll be locked up--"

"No--"

"I'm sorry! I wish it wasn't true, but it is. You need to understand what's going to happen. They're not going to believe you lost your memory, they're going to think you're faking--"

_"Faking?_ I--I don't even know what the hell's going on, how could I be faking?" Jack was holding back tears. "What am I going to do?" he whispered.

"I don't know, Jack. I don't know." Bruce put his arms around him. "But, I'm going to do everything I can to help you." He looked into the bewildered eyes and nodded firmly. "I love you. I... still love you," he said, more to himself.

Jack didn't answer. He just moved as close to Bruce as he could. Bruce felt his shirt getting wet and realized tears were streaming down Jack's cheeks.

"I just want to go home..." he said softly.

"I know you do. I know." Bruce held him and rubbed his back comfortingly.

He didn't know what he could do to help him, but he was going to try.

****

Another few weeks passed. Jack became stronger and was able to get out of bed, in a wheelchair. The police interrogated him again and again, always getting the same answers.

Bruce convinced Jim to give Jack a lie detector test.

"The Joker's clever enough to beat those," Jim had protested.

"Maybe. But, he's weak, in pain. How could he, in this condition?'

Jim had reluctantly agreed and ordered a machine and technician to be set up in a conference room at the hospital.

The tech started off with a few innocuous test questions.

"What day of the week is it?"

"Thursday."

"Where are you?"

"Gotham General Hospital."

"What's your name?"

"Jack Ramsey."

The tech nodded affirmatively to Jim, indicating his responses were registering correctly. He moved on to more serious questions.

"Did you kidnap Rachel Dawes?"

Jack closed his eyes and set his jaw.

"No."

"Did you kidnap Bruce Wayne."

"Yes. But, it was--a joke."

The tech looked uncertainly at Jim. He came over.

"What do you mean, a joke?"

"I wanted to get him away from work, so I made him go to the circus with me."

Jim glanced at the tech and raised an eyebrow. "Did you stab him?"

Jack's eyes flew open and widened in shock. "No! Are you crazy? I would never hurt Bruce, he's my--" He abruptly stopped himself.

"He's your what?" Jim hissed.

"My friend."

The tech continued with questions until he went through the list. When they were done, Jack was returned to his room and Jim and the tech poured over the results.

Bruce tapped at the conference room door, and Jim opened it. He motioned for Bruce to come in.

"Well? How did he do?"

Jim sighed. "I'm amazed, actually. To look at these findings, he's telling the truth. He doesn't remember anything after high school."

Bruce brightened. "Ok--so, doesn't that suggest that he should be treated as a psychiatric patient rather than a criminal?"

"Yes--I've arranged for a hearing. I'll certainly go over all this with the judge. But, there's one small blip in these results."

"Oh? What's that?"

"He was asked about his relationship with you. He clearly lied at that point."

"What did he say?"

"He said he was your friend."

"But, that's true."

Jim fixed Bruce with an appraising stare. "Maybe it's not the whole truth."

Bruce took a deep breath. "What difference does it make?"

"I don't know. But, if you want me to help you to help this psycho, I need all the facts. There were rumors, all the way back in high school. What's the story, Bruce? What really was going on between you and Jack Ramsey?"

Bruce gave Jim a grim smile. "Whatever you think was happening, probably was. If he lied on your test, it was to protect me. Don't hold it against him." Bruce stood, and stretched. Too many nights in a hospital recliner. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to prepare for the hearing."

Jim nodded and watched Bruce leave. He shook his head. This was the oddest case he'd ever encountered and he genuinely didn't know what the hell to think about it. But, even he had seen something in Jack's manner, in his eyes, that made him believe him.

*****

The hearing came shortly after Jack had taken his first few steps on crutches. Bruce had been there as he made his way to the bathroom, under the watchful eye of one of the ever-present police officers, and had stood by as Jack looked at himself in the mirror, it being the first time he had had the use of his hands while seeing himself. He had stared, clearly disturbed, and tentatively traced the line of first one scar, then the other, with his fingertips.

"They _are_ real," he muttered as he shook his head. He looked back at Bruce, and lifted one side of his mouth in a rueful smile. "I really thought it was--a hallucination or something."

"Yeah. I'm sorry Jack. It's just as I've been telling you."

Jack nodded bitterly. "Right. So, instead of being a kind of ok-looking kid with his life ahead of him, I wake up to find that I'm actually a broken-down old freak headed to the slammer."

Bruce didn't respond, and Jack added, "Why the hell did you let them save me? I'd be a lot better off dead."

"Jack--"

"I wish I'd just broken my neck and be done with it."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. I don't want to go to prison. I--"

"That's the point of the hearing today. If the judge believes you, he'll send you into treatment, and--"

"Oh, much better. I'll be locked up with a bunch of looney-tunes murderers instead of a bunch of regular murderers."

"It will be better. You'll have a chance to get out."

Jack didn't answer, just turned to pee. When he finished, he hobbled out and began to dress in the suit Bruce had bought him for the hearing. Bruce helped him into the wheelchair, then the officer clamped on a pair of handcuffs and they headed for the car that would take them to the courthouse.

*****

Judge Surillo glanced down at the papers spread out on her desk, then raised her eyes to the group seated before her. She looked at them individually--Jack Ramsey, the defendant; Bill Parker, the attorney representing Jack; Harvey Dent, the prosecuting attorney; Rachel Dawes, a witness; Jim Gordon, a witness; Dr. Sam Marx, the psychiatrist treating Jack; and Bruce Wayne, another witness. She sighed.

"All right, gentlemen. As you all are no doubt aware, this is a very unusual case. I don't believe there is any question that this man, Jack Ramsey, AKA the Joker, kidnapped Ms. Dawes, and subsequently, Mr. Wayne, nor that he was responsible for the bombing of the newspaper building.

"What is in question here is his mental condition at the time of the crimes, and the current state of his competency. I've heard from every one of you, except Mr. Ramsey himself. This is just a hearing, there is no reason for you not to speak, young man. Do you have anything you would like to say on your own behalf?"

Parker said something in Jack's ear and he stared up at the judge then slowly struggled to stand, leaning on the table for a moment before straightening.

"Yeah. I do have something to say." He turned his head, first to the right, then to the left, looking directly into every pair of eyes. "Every one of you here has a memory of something horrible that you say I did. I can't fight that. And, I can look at my own face, at my own body, and read the story that was carved into my flesh, sometime, some place, by somebody. But, when you, or they," he gestured at Dent and Gordon, "ask me what happened to me, or what I did, and why I did it--all I can tell you is that I don't know. Haven't a clue. Because, I don't remember."

He pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. "All I can tell you is what I _do _know. I know that ten years of my life are gone, and I can't tell you how. I know that the life I used to live is gone. My home, the things I owned--all gone. All I have left are a few people who used to know me, people who used to be my friends, and instead of helping me, they're saying that I'm some kind of monster. A fiend, out to steal and kill and destroy." Jack's voice had grown shaky and he looked down at the table for a moment. The room was a quiet as a morgue.

Then, he looked up again and shook his head. "Well, that's not me. I don't know who this is," he said, indicating his face, "and I don't know what to do. I know you don't believe me, but... My last memories before I woke up in the hospital are of being in high school, going to work, worrying about some test or another, and wanting nothing more than to spend time with..." His voice trailed off and he licked his lips. Then, his voice came back, hard as steel. "I don't remember doing any of the things I'm accused of. That's all I can tell you."

He sat down and put his head in his hands. Bruce's heart ached for him and he wished he could go to him and hold him, but he studied the judge's face instead. She consulted her papers again, and said, "I'd like to see Mr. Dent, Dr. Marx, and Mr. Parker in my chambers, please. Oh, and Mr. Wayne--you, too."

The four followed the judge through a door into her office. She sat behind her desk and folded her hands. "Gentlemen--as I said, this is very unusual. Dr. Marx, you believe the Joker's story?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've studied him extensively, and we just finished reviewing his latest brain scans. Everything points to a history of injuries that would explain not only his current memory loss, but his previous psychopathic behavior."

"And, you believe he is no longer a threat?"

"Now, wait a minute!" Harvey interjected. "Judge, surely you can't be considering letting that little freak off Scot-free just because he claims to have lost his memory! He's probably faking it--"

"He's not faking, Harvey." Bruce spoke coldly.

Harvey cast a scornful look in Bruce's direction, but didn't address his remark. He turned back to the judge. "Regardless, there's no question that he committed these crimes, and he must be punished!"

"But, what are the ethics of punishing a man for acts he has no recollection of performing?" asked the doctor. "He needs treatment, not incarceration."

"And, what happens if he gets his memory back?" Harvey rejoined. "Let's say for argument's sake that he's telling the truth. What are you going to do, let him walk the streets until he remembers he's the Joker, and decides to blow up a bank or kidnap a few more people just for the fun of it? You can't be serious."

The judge raised her hand. "That's enough, Mr. Dent. I'm recommending that he be placed in Arkham Asylum, under the direct care of Dr. Marx, for six weeks. At that time, I'll hold another hearing to determine where to go from there. Mr. Wayne, you spoke of being willing to become Mr. Ramsey's conservator?"

"Yes, Judge."

"I grant you that privilege. You'll be responsible for making decisions for him, including where he will live if and when he is released from Arkham. Do you have a plan for that?"

"He'll live with me," Bruce said simply.

"All right. Then--"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Harvey stood up, aggrieved. "What am I supposed to say to Rachel? What about everyone who's lost their job, due to their workplace being destroyed? What about--"

"Mr. Dent, that's enough. I've made my decision. Don't worry, you'll be invited to the next hearing as well. Mr. Ramsey will return to Gotham General until his primary care physician signs off that he is ready to be transferred to Arkham. Thank you, everyone, for your participation."

Furious, Harvey strode out first, then the rest. The judge made her proclamation to the courtroom, and the officer in charge of Jack got him ready to return to the hospital. Jack looked up at Bruce from his wheelchair.

"So--to the loony-bin, huh?"

"It's ok, Jack. This went much better than I thought it would."

"Sure--you're not the one in the straight jacket." Jack gave Bruce a grim sneer as he was wheeled away by the officer.

Bruce sighed. He could only hope that, sooner or later, Jack would come to appreciate his good fortune. For now, all he could hope was that Jack would do nothing to mess it up.

******

**Please review, thank you!!**


	30. Drugs, Nightmares, and Hallucinations

**Hello! Contrary to popular belief, I have not fallen off the face of the earth or been abducted by space aliens. I'm so sorry it took so long to get back to this story, all I can say is that I sort of lost the thread of what I wanted to do with it and got totally blocked. I have it worked out, now, so should be back on track. Reviews would be so appreciated, you wouldn't believe.**

**Hope you like it.**

**Reeniecat**

**xoxoxox**

Bruce descended into Arkham Asylum's black soul. As he walked down the dank hallways, it was easy to imagine himself being absorbed into its gray concrete walls to become a part of the structure itself, never to been seen or heard from again. Bruce shivered a bit, thinking of Jack. He'd always hated confinement of any kind; Arkham's oppressive atmosphere must be killing him.

It was a week after Jack's admission to the facility. Bruce had a meeting with Dr. Fine, Jack's primary doctor; he was ushered into his office by a nurse. He steeled himself, not sure what he expected to hear, not sure what he wanted to hear...

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne."

"Morning. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me."

"Oh, of course. You're his guardian now-I'm just glad you're taking an interest in the patient's welfare."

"So-how's Jack doing?"

The man shook a balding head and shrugged. "Physically, he's coming along rather well. Psychologically-it's difficult to say. The issues with his memory loss persist, and I'm fairly certain he's bi-polar-what they used to call 'manic-depressive.' Outside of that... He's clearly a troubled young man, but..."

Bruce fixed the doctor with a sharp stare. "He doesn't belong in here, does he?"

"Based on what we can observe from his current condition-no. But, of course, we have no way of knowing when-or if-he'll regain his memory. If he did, I would speculate that he would become a very dangerous individual, knowing the level of criminal activity that he was previously engaged in."

Bruce nodded and looked down at his hands before continuing. "How's he doing... in here?" He raised his eyes, and the doctor could see the concern in the handsome man's face. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"He's exhibited symptoms of paranoia, but that's not surprising. He's certainly had a hard time adjusting. Nightmares, acting out. Also, he seems to go into a sort of-altered state of consciousness, almost like a small seizure, in which he experiences hallucinations. When he comes out of it, he has no recollection of what happened. We think it's a side effect of the drugs and should pass in time, but it also may have to do with the part of his brain that holds those lost memories. It's very unusual..." The doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully as he glanced down at Jack's chart.

"What are the chances he'll be able to be released?"

"We have to get his medication adjusted, which can take several weeks. And, he has to continue to show some level of cooperation. He's coming along, but initially, we had to isolate him, and we've had to subdue him more than once." Dr. Fine shrugged. "Again, nothing unusual about that. I think that, once he adjusts to his surroundings, we'll have a better picture of what's going on with him. He's fortunate to have someone who cares about him in his life. Many of our patients aren't so lucky."

"May I see him now?"

"Yes, I'll get an orderly to take you to the visitor's room."

xoxoxox

Bruce waited while the attendant unlocked the heavy steel door that led to the visitor's area. After a few moments, Jack was brought in. His long hair still held traces of green dye, and hung lankly around his face. They had him in handcuffs and a white uniform, and he walked slowly, with some difficulty as a result of his injuries. His eyes were dull and he stared blankly at Bruce as he was shown to a seat across a metal table from him.

"Jack. How are you?" Bruce tried to smile, but it felt like he was grimacing.

Jack looked away for a moment. Then, he turned his gaze back to Bruce, took a breath and said, "They keep me pretty doped up. So, I'm great. Just... great."

"Are they treating you well?"

Jack shrugged. "For the most part. Now."

"What do you mean? The doctor said-"

Jack licked his lips and leaned forward. "To be honest-I haven't exactly been a model patient. I made myself a little unpopular at first, they said I wasn't... 'cooperating.' But, a few nights in the dungeon straightened me right out. I'm back in a room, you'll be pleased to know."

"The _dungeon? _Oh, God, Jack-"

"Yeah, rats and everything. I asked them which therapy program used vermin as a form of treatment, but they said I was beginning to sound a teensy bit uncooperative again, so I shut the hell up."

Bruce felt a rush of anger and he looked around to see who was listening.

"I'm so sorry. I'm going to take this to the director, I'll get you into a better situation-"

"Forget it. I'm ok. I'm out of it most of the time, anyway, so what difference does it make? I don't want you looking like you're some kind of... freak, throwing money around on my behalf. Just let it go. In fact, you ought to just-let _me_ go. Go home, don't come back here. There's nothing you can do for me."

Bruce stared at him. He didn't sound like Jack, any more than he sounded like the Joker. He just sounded numb-as if he didn't care at all.

"That's just the medication talking. I know you don't mean that. I'm not going to forget you, I'm going to help you. Somehow, I'm going to help you." He stared at Jack, silently trying to get him to meet his eyes. But, Jack gazed absently down at the table, and Bruce realized that he was mechanically tracing the line of some non-existent image into the steel with his finger. He didn't acknowledge Bruce's pledge, just kept drawing wavy lines in the cold surface. Bruce frowned.

"What are you doing?"

Jack didn't answer. Bruce spotted a box where toys were kept for visiting children. He found a tablet of paper and a few crayons. He brought them to Jack and put them in front of him. "Show me what's in your head." He gestured to the paper. "There. Draw it for me."

Jack's lips twisted into a grin. He cradled the paper behind one arm, like a kid determined to keep someone from copying his work. He drew and drew, his whole body shaking, and it dawned on Bruce that Jack was laughing. He finally reached out and pulled at Jack's arm. "Show me, now. Show me what you drew."

Jack smirked and held the tablet against his chest for a moment. Then, with a mischievous expression, he slowly turned the paper to face Bruce.

It was covered with dozens of crudely-drawn, little black bats.

xoxoxox

Six weeks passed. The condition of Jack's memory remained the same; and while he had quickly learned to say and do what the doctors at Arkham wanted in order to appear to be getting better, he confided in Bruce that he still couldn't believe that any of the stories of his life as the Joker were true. None of it made sense, and he still felt there was some sort of conspiracy against him.

At last, another hearing was held. Jack's state of mind was determined to be "good;" he'd responded well to his medications, once they hit on the right dosage; he was not found to be a threat. It was agreed that, in spite of Harvey Dent's objections, Jack could go home with Bruce. He was outfitted with an ankle bracelet and a stack of prescriptions. His behavior would be monitored, and, he would have to come in for regular therapy sessions with his doctors.

The slightest irregularity would send him back into the bowels of Arkham.

xoxoxox

"Are you excited?" Bruce was helping Jack to gather his few possessions into a paper bag. When Jack didn't answer, he added, "About going home, I mean?"

"Sure. I'm thrilled."

Bruce sighed. "What's wrong?"

Jack paused and gave him a tired look. "It's _your _home, not mine. I won't recognize it. Nothing I remember will be there, except for your damn butler, who... Never mind." Bruce had been slowly filling in the story of what had happened in his life after Jack's departure ten years earlier. He'd given him a fairly complete picture, except for the part about Batman. Jack had been particularly dismayed to hear about the fire that destroyed the original Wayne Manor; somewhere in his mind had been the thought that if he could just get back there, the nightmare would end. Now, the realization that that touchstone of his life was gone left him feeling bereft.

He listlessly threw a couple of paperback books into the bag and crumpled the top closed. Bruce took it from him and set it by the door, then turned back and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it'll be different, but you'll get used to it. It's actually very nice, I-"

Jack cast a baleful look in his direction. "You don't get it. It's not just the house-it's the whole world. _My _world's gone, and there's no going back. I don't belong... anywhere."

"You belong with me." Bruce took his face in his hands and tilted his forehead against Jack's. "This is a new start. I know it's strange and hard to understand, but just remember-we're together. That's all that matters now, isn't it?"

A slow smile crossed Jack's scarred features. "I suppose. And, maybe your world has decent coffee."

Bruce smiled back and gave Jack's shoulders a squeeze. He picked up the bag, and they were met by an attendant who took them to the front desk for Jack to be discharged.

Alfred met them at the exit. They piled into the car, and headed for Wayne Manor.

xoxoxox

Alfred watched Jack limp into the house and head to the bathroom, then he turned to Bruce. "You never gave me instructions, sir. Shall I make up the guest room? Or... is that not necessary?" The butler's face was impassive, but Bruce could feel the undertone of disapproval.

"Please don't concern yourself with it. I'll take care of it." Bruce gave Alfred a cold glance and strode off. Superficially, he had made his peace with Alfred's long-ago betrayal, but it didn't take a lot to bring his anger to the surface. He found Jack wandering around the manor, examining the decor with a curious expression on his face. He turned to Bruce.

"So, nothing survived the fire, huh? Not a single thing."

"No, I'm afraid it didn't."

"All that stuff... remember when we cleaned out the storage room?" Jack gave him a lascivious grin, and Bruce smiled at the memory.

"Of course."

"That's when things heated up between us. Remember?"

"I remember."

"All we wanted to do was to drive fast cars, drink a little... and fuck each other silly."

Bruce nodded wistfully. "And, we did quite a lot of all that. I miss those days."

"Yeah... In my mind, it wasn't that long ago. But, ten years..." He shook his head and stared at a painting on the wall.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Hey, I have a question for you-where do you want to sleep?"

Jack turned and looked at him for a long moment. "I want to sleep with you, like always. But... maybe you don't want that, now." He put a hand up to the ragged scar on his cheek. "I wouldn't blame you." He started to walk away, but Bruce caught his arm.

"Hell, yes, I want that. I've wanted it for ten years, I've missed you..." His voice caught and he took a deep breath. "...but, you're on medication, and things are-kind of unsettled right now. I can make up the guest room for you, if you'd be more comfortable in there. Whatever you want."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What I _want_ is for things to be like they used to be, before what we had together was butchered by your bitch of an aunt, but that's not going to happen." His voice was raw, and he seemed to go somewhere else for a moment. But, when he spoke again, he sounded calmer. "So, okay, we start over. I want to be in your bed. We can fuck if you want, or not. But-I want to be with you."

Bruce nodded. "That works for me," he said, grinning slightly. He took Jack's bag, and the two headed upstairs to get Jack settled.

xoxoxox

Days passed. They spent the first few nights wrapped around each other, grateful just to be in each other's arms, wanting nothing more. But, eventually, they began to touch each other again, tentatively at first, then their hands moved more confidently and old memories surged, and their need for one another became intense.

One night, the heat between them ignited, and they shed their clothes and made love. They woke up the next morning, sated and naked, and they grinned at each other. It was so familiar, so easy. They kissed, eyes closed, and suddenly, in their minds, they were back in Bruce's room at old Wayne Manor, two teenagers trying to be quiet so as not to alert Alfred to their lusty activities.

Desire overtook them again, and Bruce playfully wrestled Jack onto his stomach and entered him, and the joy they'd once taken so much for granted rushed back as their bodies moved together and brought them release. Afterward, Jack lay in Bruce's arms, and he chuckled.

"God, I've missed this."

"Yeah." Bruce was still close to speechlessness.

They were quiet for a long time, then Jack asked, "How old am I now, Bruce?"

"Well... your birthday will be coming up in a few weeks, so right now, you're twenty-seven."

He nodded. "Thought so. My brain's a little foggy these days. Not sure about a lot of that kind of stuff." He twisted out of Bruce's embrace and sat up. "I don't want to take those pills anymore, Bruce."

Bruce scooted over to him, put his arms around him from behind and hugged him. "I know. But, you have to. You have to be able to show the doctors that you're following the program, or they'll send you back to Arkham. I don't want that, and I don't think you do, either. Ok?"

Jack nodded. He just wanted to feel normal, not that he could remember what normal felt like.

It had been a long time since he'd felt anything at all. Being here with Bruce was the closest he'd come since he woke up in the hospital. But, somehow, there was something, something nagging at him. It was as if a feather was brushing at some remote corner of his brain, tickling him with almost-memories that he couldn't grasp. It was frustrating, but also frightening. If even half of what everyone had been telling him was true, he didn't want those memories. He put his hands on Bruce's arms and pulled him closer.

Normal. Maybe this was as close as he was going to come, ever again. And, maybe that was a good thing.


	31. A Dream, A Memory

**A/N: Whew, ok, I'm a terrible person-I'm so sorry, it's been a long time. But, if anybody's still out there, please stick with me. This is pretty short, but more is coming...**

**R**

* * *

Weeks passed like a wisp of wind in the night. Jack's physical recovery came along slowly but surely; Bruce did his best to make him feel at home, to feel loved and wanted, but it wasn't easy. By the end of the day, the medications reduced Jack to a dull-eyed zombie. Other times, he was bitter and restless. But, his doctors were pleased with his progress, and sometimes, sparks of the old Jack wrestled their way through the haze. A grin, a snappy comeback, a caress... It wasn't much, but those little moments meant the world to Bruce.

As time went on, they happened more frequently. Sometimes, usually in the morning, Jack even seemed... happy. Sometimes, on a quiet Saturday afternoon or a sunny Sunday morning, just for a little while, Bruce managed to forget that the man sitting beside him, or writhing deliciously in his arms, was once the Joker.

The nights were another matter.

Jack often had a rough time of it. Often, Bruce's own sleep was disturbed by his lover's thrashing and moaning, but as soon as he roused himself, turned over, and gently shook Jack's shoulder, he would settle down, his breathing would slow, and his heart rate would return to normal. Bruce would fluff his pillow, reclaim some blanket for himself, and soon be back asleep, only to go through the whole ritual again a few hours later.

The only upside was that, on the nights when Batman went out on patrol, Jack didn't ask any questions when he woke up alone.

* * *

One night, it was close to four in the morning when Bruce jolted awake. Jack was sitting up next to him, seemingly peering at him in the dim light, but after Bruce's eyes focused, he realized Jack was staring at some point above and beyond his shoulder, not really seeing him at all. He had a puzzled frown on his face, and when he spoke, his voice was a whispered rasp.

"Wendy? Wendy? Wake up, honey, the baby's crying. Wendy. Wendy, come on. Wake up-why won't you wake up?" His frown deepened, and Bruce turned to face him.

"Jack-Wendy's not here. Look at me-see? It's Bruce. Wake up. Wake up, Jack-you're dreaming." He gently took Jack's face in his hands and guided his gaze to his face, into his eyes. Jack stared at him blankly, then seemed to snap to. He blinked a few times and looked around him, bewildered, before rubbing his hand over a scar.

"Uh-what-what's going on?"

"You were dreaming."

"Oh. Oh, yeah." He nodded, understanding. "I thought I... I thought I heard a baby crying. Weird. Sorry-go back to sleep." He abruptly turned over, away from Bruce's searching gaze, and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

Bruce sighed. He scooted closer, and pulled Jack to him. "You were dreaming about your wife and daughter, weren't you?"

"I-I don't know. Something... familiar, can't put my finger on it. That baby crying-I don't know, felt so real..."

"You're starting to remember, Jack. You're remembering in your dreams."

"Don't want to. Just want to... go back to sleep."

Bruce didn't press it, just held him until he felt Jack's chest rise and fall in a rhythm of even breathing, but he was worried. If Jack remembered-any of it, all of it-what would happen? Would the Joker come back? Would Jack slip away from him all over again? For all his strength, for all his training to fight, to win, to endure-he wasn't sure he could lose Jack again and still retain his own sanity.

"Don't leave me, Jack," he whispered. "Please."

* * *

The Joker stood by a window in the old abandoned office building. He watched the Bat as he prepared to swoop down to confront him. He greeted him with a lead pipe in his hand, cackling insanely as the masked man strode toward him. _Aw, Batsy, you made it! Say, you look like a million bucks. C'mere-I've been waiting for you... _He raised the pipe and brought it down over the side of the Batman's face. Blood spewed from a split lip, and...

Jack opened his eyes. _Fuck_. It felt so real, but here he was, naked, in bed. In bed with... The room was dim, but when he looked to his side, he saw the tight curve of Bruce's sculpted shoulder. For a long moment, he watched the gentle rise and fall of Bruce's breathing. He put out a shaking hand and rested it on the warm flesh, feeling the muscles, the bone, the _aliveness _of him, and Jack tried to settle back into sleep, tried not to think.

His own breathing was ragged, rapid, and he took a calming breath, but the dream-images wouldn't go away. He could feel the thick white greasepaint on his face, the coat of red on his lips... _The Joker._ He looked down at his hand, half expecting to see a lead pipe still clutched in his fist and blood on his hand. He slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. He splashed water over his face and looked at himself in the mirror.

The Joker. Now, he remembered._ Now, he knew how he got those scars._

He ran his fingertips along the deeper, more jagged one on the right, and felt the memories flooding into his brain. Wendy. Their little baby girl. Her tiny hand, cold and lifeless, gripped tightly in his. The grief poured over him, and he knew. _He knew._ He gripped the edge of the counter and suppressed a howl of anguish, of rage. He stared at himself, and he knew.

He knew how it felt to hold a life, its owner panicked and gasping in fear, and he knew the satisfaction of ending it. He knew how it felt to hold... a gun, a bomb. _A knife._ And, he knew something more. He touched the scar on the other side of his face and closed his eyes. He felt the knife dig in, split his flesh, and...

"Jack? Are you all right?"

Bruce's voice calling from the bedroom brought him back into the now. He exhaled before answering, forced his voice to be steady. "Sure, Bruce. Go back to sleep." He stood still for a moment, mentally sorting the cacophony of images into what was real and what was not, then padded back to bed and slipped under the covers. Bruce pulled him into his arms, and Jack could see the slightly worried smile on his face.

"Bad dream?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry. What was it?"

"I don't know-don't remember it now. Don't worry about it, let's just get some sleep, huh?"

"All right. I love you, Jack." Bruce kissed him, then settled back, still holding him securely.

"Yeah-you, too." Jack pressed his cheek against Bruce's chest, listening to the regular beat of his heart. He inhaled the good, familiar scent. How many times had he lain like this, warm and nestled in those strong arms? How long ago was it, when they were kids, young, happy, in love with one another, so in love? Then, he would have done anything for him. He'd have died for him. And, now...

_Batman._ Bruce is... Batman.

Whirling pictures, dripping colors, long-ago voices, crashing sounds-they were all jagged edges crowding into his mind, and they almost made him nauseous. He felt as if he were falling, he felt as if he were about to break apart. Ten years of his life tore through him, filled him, suffocated him, and he knew... Everything Bruce had told him was true. He was a killer, _a murderer,_ a psychopathic freak.

He was the Joker.

He stared at his hands in the dim light, clasping and unclasping them. He carefully disentangled himself from Bruce's arms, then sat up and looked back at him, sleeping, sleeping. Slowly, he shook his head.

"I've got to get out of here," he thought.


	32. Forever

**A/N: Oh, my goodness, it's been ages. I'm so sorry-but the good news is, I finally finished this story! Yes! THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER! Which I'm kind of sad about, but... well, you know. Sooo... if anyone's still out there, here it is, and I hope it's okay. I really appreciate everyone who's read and waited and alerted and reviewed, and I thank you all so much. **

**Love,**

**R**

* * *

The Gotham sky had just begun to take on the pinkish-orange hues of dawn, and Bruce Wayne woke up alone. He lay there, listening; there were no sounds coming from the bathroom. He sat up and looked around. Jack wasn't standing naked at the window the way he sometimes liked to do, nor was he dozing in the easy chair in the corner. A sense of foreboding went through Bruce, and he hastily slid out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

"Jack?" he called as he headed out of the bedroom, but he got no answer.

He went downstairs to the kitchen and found Alfred putting on coffee. The butler turned and greeted him cheerfully.

"Good morning, Master Wayne. You're up early. Coffee will be ready in a few-"

"Have you seen Jack?"

Alfred paused, then shook his head; he could hear the thread of worry in Bruce's voice. "No, sir."

Bruce spun on his heel and went to do a quick run-through of the penthouse, calling Jack's name all the while. His heart was pounding by the time he gave in and admitted to himself the obvious fact-Jack was gone.

He headed to the elevator and took it down to the bat cave. To his immense relief, he found Jack there, going through Bruce's tool chest. For a moment, Bruce just stood quietly, catching his breath. Then he asked, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Jack didn't look up. "Got to find something to take this damn jewelry off my leg."

Bruce walked up to him and made a show of looking in the tool chest with him. "I don't think you'll find anything satisfactory in there."

"Oh, yeah?" Now, Jack looked up. "Well, I bet Batsy has some fancy gadget in his utility belt that would do it. Some laser thingie? How about it, sport? Save me a little time, huh?" Jack's eyes were twinkling mischievously, and Bruce shook his head.

"Jack, if you remove the monitor, the police will swoop in here and they'll cart you off to Arkham so fast your head will spin."

"No, no, no. You see, I have an exit strategy." Jack gestured behind him at the Tumbler. "I'm going to take your tricked-out roadster and blast off. By the time they figure it all out, I'll be long gone." He smiled wickedly.

Bruce felt his heart sink. Was this the Joker talking? Or Jack? "You got your memory back," he said softly.

The grin faded to a small smile, and Jack nodded. "Yeah. Last night. It all... came flooding back, as they say." The smile disappeared entirely and he held Bruce's gaze with a burning stare. "I remember _everything. _All of it. Wendy, my kid. The scars." He moved closer to Bruce. "The... _Joker."_

"You're not him." Bruce spoke firmly, the look in his eye matching Jack's.

"I was."

"You're not, not anymore." Bruce broke their gaze and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're Jack Ramsey, and you're going to be all right. You just have to trust me, trust the doctors-"

Jack moved his head to look at Bruce's hand as if it were an interesting sort of insect, then turned his eyes back to Bruce. "It's not that simple, big guy."

"Yes, it is." Bruce felt a surge of panic well up in his throat, but he forced himself to speak calmly. "This is a turning point. What happens next is up to you." Bruce's spoke evenly, but the gritty rasp began to seep through. "All you have to remember is this-you're Jack Ramsey, and you're suffering the effects of head trauma, mental illness, and PTSD. You're Jack Ramsey, and you've got a second chance to live. You're Jack Ramsey, and I love you." Bruce let his hand drop, and he gave up hiding the pain in his voice. "Please, Jack. Don't go. Stay with me." They both knew he was referring to more than just Jack's physical being.

Jack held his gaze, and Bruce saw a flash of something-he'd seen it before, when the Joker laughed-but it was gone as quickly as it had come and the muscles of Jack's face relaxed and softened into a real smile, and Bruce had seen that too, long ago, waking up next to his seventeen-year-old lover in his bed at Wayne Manor.

"Then, come with me," Jack said softly. "Let's hit the road, start over. Go someplace where they'll never find us."

"No. You're running because knowing what you did as the Joker is tearing you up inside, and-"

"No. I'm running because it _doesn't." _The fiery glare was back, and a grim sneer crossed his face. "I don't give a damn about what I did. This town deserved it, in spades. But, yeah-there's you. And, I don't want to hurt you anymore." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And, I will. I will if I stay here." He opened his eyes, and now he looked like Jack again. "So, I'm leaving. You can come if you want, I'd like that. Or, you can try to keep me here, if you think you can. But, I'll get out eventually. I always do..." He went back to digging in the tool chest, and Bruce stood watching, feeling the echoes of his heartbreak bouncing through his chest.

"Stop." He turned and went to the wall, and punched in a code. A panel slid aside, and Batman's crime-fighting instruments were revealed. Bruce took out something that looked like a laser pointer and went back to Jack. He looked him in the eye. "Where will you go?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't know. Someplace sunny. I'm tired of the cold." He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "Maybe California. Maybe I'll get an ice cream truck and sell popsicles to the kiddies on the beach in Malibu. Maybe someday you'll join me and we can go surfing together, huh? I hear the waves are, uh, _gnarly..." _He licked his lips and gave Bruce a teasing wink. Bruce shook his head.

"Just stay here. Please. I can't lose you again. I can't-"

Jack took Bruce's face in his hands. "You'll be all right. And, you're not losing me. I'll keep in touch. You know me, I turn up like a bad penny."

"They'll catch you. They'll catch you, and lock you up-"

"No, no. That's not going to happen." Jack leaned forward and kissed Bruce, long and slow. "We'll be together again. Who knows when or where, but what difference does it make? You and me-we're two parts of a whole. We'll always be together. In here." Jack tapped his temple and smiled. "So-you gonna let me go, or do I have to fight you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, no fighting. But, wait." He went to another part of the cave and pushed another set of buttons. He returned with bundles of cash and a set of car keys. "Here's twenty-thousand dollars, that should get you to wherever you intend to go. And, these are keys to the Lexus-slightly less conspicuous than the Tumbler." He sighed as he offered them.

Jack took the money and the keys. "What'll you tell the cops?"

"I'll come up with something. Come on, let's go to the garage."

Jack picked up a bag he'd packed and put the money in it, then followed Bruce to the car. He unlocked it, and just before he got in, Bruce knelt and used his laser tool to cut through the ankle bracelet on Jack's leg. It fell off, and Bruce wiped the tool clean of prints, then tossed it on the floor beside the monitor.

Jack nodded his thanks, then threw his arms around Bruce's neck and hugged him. "Well, so long, old buddy. Thanks for looking after me. I'll pay back the dough."

"That's not necessary."

"Oh, I will. And, as for the other stuff-killing, blowing things up and so forth-I won't screw you over, you know that, right?"

Bruce grinned. "I suppose I do. You've always been a man of your word, after all."

"Yeah." They stared at each other for a long moment, then Jack said, "I'll see you again, Bruce. And..." He swallowed. "I love you. Know that, too, okay?"

"I know." And, he did know. He knew it was Jack's love for him that was making Jack do this, making him go somewhere where he could get away from his memories, from Gotham, from the Joker. Bruce didn't know how he would stand it, but there was no choice. He couldn't leave his city, and he couldn't make Jack stay, no matter how many locks he might put between him and the outside world.

He'd just end up locking Jack away from himself.

Bruce hugged his lover one last time, then stood by as he got behind the wheel and revved up the engine. Bruce punched a button which opened the garage door, and Jack backed out the vehicle. Bruce watched him stop at the street, turn and wave, one eyebrow raised in a sardonic smirk. Bruce raised his hand and waved back.

He stood there until Jack Ramsey rounded a corner and drove out of his life.

He then closed the garage door and went upstairs to prepare for a visit from the police.

* * *

_Three years later..._

"Mail, sir." Alfred handed a stack of envelopes to Bruce and he took it with a yawn. He'd had a rough night dealing with a certain female in a cat suit, and he was yet again considering giving up his Batman persona once and for all, but a familiar scrawl distracted him. He smiled.

Alfred smiled, as well. "Another letter?"

Bruce nodded. The missives didn't come often, but when they did, they were fat packets, full of news, drawings, and photographs from Jack's life. Bruce tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. "Yes, and a picture, as well." He stared at it for a while, taking in all the details.

It was Jack, on a desert somewhere in Tunisia. Wind was blowing his long wavy blond hair around his face, but it didn't obscure his smart-ass grin, so familiar to Bruce, or the triumphant glint in his brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt, tan pants tucked into tall boots, with one foot up on a stack of long boxes. He had a high-powered rifle in one hand, and the other was on his hip, and several dark-haired men, all heavily armed, were gathered around him, smiling and laughing, and behind them was a battered military vehicle. Bruce turned the photo over to read the caption:

_"Keeping the resistance well-supplied. My version of an ice-cream truck." _

Bruce chuckled and settled down to read the letter.

_"I'm doing all right, Brucey-boy. Had a couple of close calls in Algeria, but I'm happy to report my leg's just about healed, and things are looking up! In other news..." _

Jack went on to relate a number of skirmishes he'd been peripherally involved in during the course of his gun-running operation, and he ended with a poignant story in which he and his men managed to get a wounded child to safety and medical attention without getting arrested.

_"Just trying to get the babies fed, now; I'm expecting a big shipment of dried milk and formula this afternoon, that ought to do it. _

_"I miss you, big guy. Give Jeeves a kiss for me, will you? Then give one to yourself. If I was there, I'd give you a hand-job like you wouldn't believe. _

_XOXO!_

_Love, _

_Jack." _

Bruce put the letter down and shook his head in amazement.

"And, how is Master Jack these days, sir?" Alfred asked.

"He's fine. He appears to be using his powers for good, for a change." Bruce gave Alfred a rundown on Jack's letter. He didn't add that he'd heard from a business contact about the elusive "ghost" troubling the Tunisian government, thought to be responsible for the deaths of certain high-level security officials; inexplicably, and in spite of armed guards at their doors, they'd been found with their throats slashed following their calls for military action against civilian demonstrators.

Leave it to Jack to go for a low-tech approach.

Alfred watched Bruce's face. "Do you think you'll ever see him again, sir?"

Bruce thought back to the events of the last three years; the story he'd created to explain Jack's disappearance _(I don't remember anything, Jim-he must have drugged me); _the first letter from Jack, saying he'd made it out of the country into Mexico; the cryptic phone calls he'd received every so often over the next few months, letting him know Jack was safe and on the move; then, more letters, each from a different city in Europe, then Africa.

The last two letters had been routed through some dubious business address in the Carolinas.

Bruce grinned. Whatever Jack was doing, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Bruce checked the envelope one more time, and sure enough, he'd overlooked one more slip of paper-a check, signed "Joseph Kerr," one of Jack's many aliases. It was the final installment on the money he'd given Jack to facilitate his escape from Gotham, and Bruce put it with the others. He'd never cashed any of them, and he didn't intend to. He liked the idea that Jack had something from him to fall back on, in case he ever needed it.

Bruce would reply later, after he'd had a chance at a decent night's sleep. This vigilante business was getting old. _Just like me, _he thought. He wondered how long he could go on, then stood up and went upstairs to bed.

* * *

**Epilogue**_  
_

_Two more years pass..._

Bruce woke up with Jack nestled warm and snug against his chest. For a moment, he felt as if he were moving through a dream-the room was different from his familiar bedroom's surroundings; even the streaming in of sun rays had an alien feel to it. The only thing that felt normal was Jack's scarred cheek against his own, and that-that wasn't possible. Bruce arched, stretching his stiff muscles, and he forced himself to come to full consciousness, then he looked down at the tangle of blond hair and smiled.

Oh, yeah. He was in _Jack's_ bed.

In Maribor.

Slovenia.

_"Why the hell did you pick this place?" _Bruce had yelled over the roar of jet engines as he and Jack ran for the airplane out of Algiers.

_"It's the only half-ways civilized place I could find that didn't have an extradition treaty with the U.S.!" _Jack had responded cheerfully.

Now, here they were, waking up in the partially-remodeled mountainside castle that Jack had picked up for a song only a few months ago.

He'd contacted Bruce and told him he was planning to settle down.

He'd invited Bruce to join him.

For Bruce, the invitation had come at just the right time. Certain things had happened; Batman was a wanted man in Gotham City. He could no longer move through the city with impunity. And, if he were to be honest with himself, he no longer had the passion for it. There were others, now, and he was older. His timing was off, sometimes; he risked making mistakes.

Wayne Enterprises was thriving more than ever. It didn't need much from him, other than an occasional signature, phone calls, and a teleconferences now and then.

Rachel and Harvey had married and moved out of the city to raise a family; it was nice to visit them once in a while, but Bruce never felt as if he belonged in their lives anymore.

The few almost-romances Bruce had dabbled in had all turned out to be boring at best, near-disastrous at worst, and he'd always ended up wishing he could lie down next to Jack again.

Then, the letter came, and for the first time, Bruce had asked himself-why not? _What, really, is keeping you here?_

Nothing.

Alfred was getting on. He had visited England a few times and had mentioned his sister was in ill-health and that he would like to spend some extended time with her while he still could, but Bruce knew he wouldn't leave him on his own for very long. So, when Jack wheedled Bruce into a visit with him in Algiers, he'd told Alfred he would be closing up the house and leaving the country for an extended vacation. He'd noticed the relief in Alfred's eyes when he'd answered, "Very good, sir. Well, if you won't be needing me, then, I'll just make a trip home to see my sister for the duration."

Bruce had smiled. "That's a good idea, Alfred. I'll let you know when I'm ready to come back."

That had been weeks ago.

Jack roused himself and looked into Bruce's eyes. "Morning, champ. That was one hell of a good fuck we had ourselves last night, huh?"

"Yes, it was." Bruce grinned. "The first of many, as far as I'm concerned."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Sooo... now, that you've seen the place-does that mean you've decided to stay with me a while?"

Bruce nodded. "I was thinking... Forever, Jack. If you're okay with that."

Jack chuckled. "I think I am, Bruce. I think I am."

-The End-

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
**

**P.S. from the author: FYI, I have another account with a few Batman/Joker stories which has been around a while. If you're interested, search under authors for "Seditionary." Yeah, I don't remember why I started another account, but it made sense at the time, lol.**


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